


Like Beautiful Galatea

by AraniaDraws (AraniaArt), Cryo_Bucky



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood, Bucky murders a few people, Canon-Typical Violence, Comic Crossover AU, Dehumanization, Lots of Food, M/M, Minor Natasha Romanov/Sam Wilson, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Panic Attacks, Parkour, Steve Rogers' Shitty Health, Touch-Starved, recovery fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-04 23:23:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11001153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AraniaArt/pseuds/AraniaDraws, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryo_Bucky/pseuds/Cryo_Bucky
Summary: Steve Rogers writes the Captain America comics, it’s a great gig, and the Winter Soldier is a great way for him to cope with the loss of his lover. So why was the Winter Soldier from his story standing in his living room?





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for stopping by, I hope that you enjoy this fic! It's been a real joy to work on and I'm so glad to finally get to post it! 
> 
> **Warnings!** Though they didn't apply for the posting logistics I wanted to make sure to include them:   
>  Both Steve and Bucky are technically dead in each other's timelines, but I didn't want to include the character death warning because of the workings of the plot and the fact that none of that happens within the story.   
> Also, Bucky sort of murders some people (including Rumlow) in chapter 8, and it's not pretty.   
> If anyone has anything additional that they feel needs to be tagged, please don't hesitate to let me know.

The Asset knew better than to question his handlers, and knew better than to question orders; so he sat quietly and checked his weapons while the Humvee trundle through thick jungle. The handlers that surrounded him were silent, all trying to be subtle about watching what he was doing. They were always uncomfortable around him, and it brought him some small measure of happiness to know that he unsettled them. At least he assumed it might be happiness.

Tucking the knife back into its sleeve at the small of his back the Asset stared blankly at the sheet-metal wall of the Humvee. This mission was different than the norm, usually he was given a clear and concise list of instructions, who to kill, where to acquire information, but this time he was only told to go and he take his orders once they arrived at their destination. He wasn’t antsy, he didn’t get antsy, but there was a tingling feeling deep in his chest that he wasn’t sure where to place. There was nothing that he could compare it to, only fuzzy bits of memories that made the space between his eyes ache like a hot spike was being lodged there- so he tried not to think on it, letting his mind slip into the quiet, empty, place that was easy.

When the Humvee finally stopped the Asset stood, calmly waiting for the door to open, his fingers closed around the grip on his favorite gun for a moment before he followed the agents out into the wall of humid air, some small part of him recoiling from the feeling as his hair immediately started to curl and stick to his skin. He didn’t show his disgust, though his mouth twisted into a grimace beneath his mask. Already he could feel sweat begin to prickle at his skin through the layers of leather. He hated leather.

The jungle was loud around them, animals scurrying and a low mechanical hum coming through the trees. The Asset silently fell into step with his Handlers as they headed toward the hum, all his senses tuned in to the trees around them. Something was making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and it made his fingers twitch. A large shape loomed out of the trees, a factory it seemed, covered in vines, the door the only place where the metal was still visible.

“You first, Soldier. Open the door.”

Without missing a step the Asset regarded the door itself for only a moment before grabbing the handle and wrenching it free of the hinges with a cacophonous grinding of metal. Dropping the door to the side the Asset stepped into the gloom of the dilapidated factory, pulling one of his guns from the holster to clear the rooms as he went. The Handlers trailed behind him; their palpable nerves making him want to smile. Good, they were scared.

The mechanical hum persisted throughout the factory, despite the dust that coated everything in a thick layer. Something in this place was still running. Deep in the factory the air was cooler, though the thick layers of dust remained, jumping up at them in tiny puffs with every step. This place was beyond abandoned, and yet the hum persisted. The uneasy feeling that had begun at the edge of the jungle was making the Asset’s grip on his gun tight enough for the metal to groan. He was unaccustomed to feeling uneasy, or anxious or anything at all really, and it set him on edge. Whatever was here was bad enough that they needed to send him in the first place, and put his Handlers on high alert. The reinforced doors proved no match at all for his strength, and he continued to stalk forward into each room, the hum slowly invading his thoughts and leaving him wanting to tear apart whatever the source of the infernal noise might be.

With one final door torn free of the wall the Asset looked up into a room where the ceiling disappeared into the gloom, most of the walls taken up by complex machinery. The hum was the most pervasive here, and he could feel it digging itself further into his mind and he shook his head like an irritated dog. Unsure of what his orders would be from here on he fixed his posture into military rest and holstered his gun. His Handlers fanned out into the room, grumbling to each other about the hum as well. The Asset stared at the machine, watching as the Handlers examined it. He shook his head again, the hum making him want to twitch.

“Soldier, come here.” The tech they had brought with them pointed to a spot beside him while he dusted off the monitor of the great machine.

Sliding out of his rest stance the Asset stalked forward, looking up at the complex knobs and switches that make up a control panel, none of them were labeled, but one of the buttons glowed faintly.

“You’re going to turn it on?” One of the men hissed, his grip on his gun tightening. “We have no idea what that thing could do.”

“Shut your mouth. We were told to figure out what it does. Why do you think we brought _him?_ ”

The tech jerked his thumb toward the Asset as he said it, but the men didn’t seem soothed, milling around the machine but not getting too close. The hum had firmly lodged itself into the Asset’s mind, and he felt himself sway a bit. Suddenly the stabbing pain between his eyes returned with a vengeance, and he couldn’t resist digging his fingers into his hair to try and push it out. All of the men turned to him, unease written plainly on their faces. They knew that their Asset could be unstable.

“Soldier?” The tech had taken a step back.

The little light on the control panel flickered, and the hum cut out for a blessed moment. The Asset wrenched his eyes open and stepped forward to press the button that had gleamed so faintly under the layer of dust. Immediately the hum returned, growing louder until it seemed to fill the room like a physical presence as the monitors flickered to life. They were painfully bright in the gloom, and the Asset shielded his eyes from them as the hum continued to assail them. It sounded like a plane was landing above them, or a train threatening to come through the ceiling.

  

                 _“Bucky! Hang on!”_

 

The Asset jerked, looking around for a familiar voice even as the hum reached a fever pitch. His Handlers were clutching at their heads and shouting at each other, but nothing could break through the din. Shaking his head again the Asset turned on his heel, seeking the voice that had seemed so close, even as his skull felt like it was trying to break itself in half. Another step had him stumbling and he caught himself only to see that he was on a dais set into the floor.

_“Such sweet sorrow…”_

The Asset spun in place, searching for the voice that brushed against the back of his neck like a breath, making his skin jump out in goosebumps.

 _“They made me to do their bidding as well. Why don’t I take it away?”_ The voice ghosted through the air around him, seeming to come from just behind him no matter how quickly he turned to look.

The Asset didn’t answer, wasn’t sure it was really a question _intended_ for an answer. A life without pain? Surely no such place existed. As soon as the voice appeared it was gone, and only a moment after the hum cut out as well, leaving the room achingly quiet, dust slowly floating down from the ceiling. The quiet only lasted a moment before the room was filled with light, the Asset forced his eyes closed, throwing his arm up to try and block it out. Then the whine of machinery kicked up, even louder than the hum had been previously, and the Asset forced his eyes open only to feel the room pitch sharply to the side and the details melted away before darkness quickly invaded his senses.

 

* * *

 

Steve jerked awake, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes to try and rub out the grogginess as his alarm continued to beep soullessly at him. Sitting up was accompanied by a procession of cracks and pops from his spine, and he winced. Why did he even need to set an alarm today? Oh yeah, he needed to be up to slog through a meeting with Maria. At least he had all the pages done this time. He snagged his glasses off the nightstand, blinking through the residual sleep fog that clouded his vision even more than usual. He hated wearing his contacts when he was home, so he’d put it off as long as he didn’t need to look professional. Who had decided that glasses weren’t professional anyway? Plenty of people had glasses.

He was still grumbling to himself as he trudged toward the bathroom, removing his glasses long enough to splash some water on his face before replacing them to squint at his pill case. God, it seemed like every year the little weekly organizer got more and more full of pills in all shapes and sizes. Heart, lungs, spine, blood, eyes, was there any part of him that actually worked? His bladder pinched to remind him that at least that functioned properly, and he shuffled over to relieve himself one-handed while he sorted pills with the other.

At least he couldn’t complain about his job. Not many people were given so much freedom to do what they loved, and it paid well enough for him to be able to afford this apartment and all his medical bullshit. Plus, he liked Maria, he liked the other writers, and he even liked going to conventions, though he would never get over being embarrassed when people gushed over his work.

Captain America wasn’t the most original idea, but Steve still loved it. He knew it was a little cliché, basing a character on himself, but everyone seemed to enjoy it anyway. He’d at least been smart enough to change his publishing name, so that people didn’t think he was _that_ much of a prick. The memory of sitting next to Sam with an anagram generator made him grin. Sam still had him in his phone as _Serge Storve_ , no matter how often he’d tried to sneakily change it. Anything was better than _Regrets Ovens_ , which was his name in Nat’s phone. Jack Kirby was a name he’d found in an old newspaper article, and he’d felt a little honored to take it when he did a little reading about the man. Captain America would have liked him, and Steve sure did.

Scrubbing his hand over his face he straightened his glasses once more, throwing the pills back and sucking down some water before going to find some clothes.

“Morning Buck.” Brushing his fingers over the picture frame on the nightstand Steve felt his lips twist into a sad attempt at a smile. God he missed him. Pushing his fingers through his hair he dug through his closet, deciding plain was fine for today.

“Morning Mom.” He touched the frame above his desk, his chest pinching tightly. Sometimes he got really tired of missing people. Maybe there was something about him.

Shaking off the melancholy Steve gathered up his notes and the flashdrive he’d need for his meeting with Maria. Shoving his phone in his pocket Steve wrapped his scarf around his neck and slung his messenger bag over his shoulder.

Once he’d managed to flag down a cab Steve pulled his phone out of his pocket again to scroll through his emails. He was anxious about presenting these pages to Maria. She had been overjoyed about the _Winter Soldier_ storyline, and hadn’t judged him for his unconventional method of dealing with his grief. He was always going to miss Bucky, but seeing people enjoy the stories that involved him made it a little less painful.

“You’re early.” Maria looked up from her computer, her hair pulled perfectly up into a tight bun and her Bluetooth forever in her ear.

“Always am.” Steve grinned at her, hooking his bag on the chair and plopping down across from his editor.

Maria clicked through a few files on her computer, taking the flashdrive from Steve and uploading his files before looking at the physical sketches he’d brought. He knew plenty of artists that did all their work digitally, but he liked the feeling of a real pencil in his hand, even if it was frustrating to have to re-draw something a dozen times.

“I like it.” Maria carefully reshuffled his papers and tucked them back in the folder. “I’ll send your digitals in and we’ll get the process going.”

“You don’t think the story is weak?” Steve knew that the new plotline was a little convoluted. The higher-ups had suggested tying in the Cap storyline with a bunch of the other writers, which was fine, and had yielded a bunch of interesting work, but now bringing it back to his own character’s recovery was proving more difficult than he’d imagined. “I spent almost the whole time designing his costume. You should have seen some of my initial sketches.” He didn’t need to mention the one with the extreme v-neck/cape combo.

Maria shook her head. “No, I think it’ll be good to see Cap coming to terms with everything that happened in the crossover arcs. What about the Soldier? You left his line kind of ambiguous.”

Steve nodded, digging through his bag for his notebook where he’d written the breakdown for this and future storylines, maybe he should have a safer place for his notes... “I honestly didn’t plan as much for him as I should have. I don’t just want him to come back and have everything be all hunky-dory again.”

“I know you turned down the idea of a Winter Soldier comic before…”

Steve frowned. “I know, and I haven’t changed my mind. I couldn’t stand handing him over to someone else. You know why.”

“I understand. It’s your choice.” Maria tapped away at her computer for a few long moments. “If you do change your mind, just let me know. Anyway, I have to spend the rest of the day in meetings; I swear my life is meetings.”

Steve gave her a crooked smile. “I’ll send you strength, maybe bring some muffins or something next time.”

They tossed back and forth ideas for the rest of the hour, and Steve did end up showing her his dorky original Nomad sketches, to her entertainment and his mortification.

Waving goodbye as he slung his bag over his shoulder, Steve flipped through his notes and tried to give some serious thought to what to do with Bucky’s character. He’d spent a lot of time trying to figure out what to do at the end of the Winter Soldier arc, and he felt guilty about having Bucky basically fade away, but he just couldn’t decide what to do next.

The cab ride back home was long and slow, and he tapped at his leg as he waited for the traffic. God, he loved Brooklyn, but sometimes…

Brushing his hair out of his eyes as he trudged up the stairs, Steve mulled over his thoughts. The Winter Soldier was important, he had to do it right. Maybe he’d try to end the Cap arc in a satisfying way so that he could focus on a stand-alone comic with Bucky…

He was still mulling it over as he shoved his key in the lock, he looked up and froze, his bad sliding off his skinny shoulder and to the floor, his papers spilling out and pencils rolling across the floor.

The Winter Soldier was standing in his livingroom, huge and intimidating, with a mask covering his face, and his eyes sharp and cold. He was also clutching the bound copy of Steve’s _Winter Soldier_ comic in his metal hand.

“Who are you?” Steve’s voice was shaking. “This isn’t funny, pal…” Steve tightened his grip on the doorknob, watching with huge eyes as the Soldier reached up to take off the mask.

Oh God, this wasn’t happening.

 _“Bucky?”_ No way, there was no way.

The Soldier stared blankly at him, his eyes icy and strangely vacant. “Who the hell is Bucky?” His voice was gravely, not from disuse, but more like he spent a lot of his time screaming, but Steve felt his heart squeeze tightly, because it was undeniably Bucky. There was no one else in the world that Steve knew better.

[](http://arania.kamiki.net/misc/fanfics/stuckyrbb1.jpg)  



	2. Chapter 2

“Listen buddy-” Steve started, swallowing thickly and trying to dislodge his heart from his throat. “I don’t know what you think you’re playing at but I’m not laughing.”

This man who looked so much like Bucky, so much like Steve’s Soldier, continued to stare blankly at him. There was no way; looking at him now Steve could see the differences, this man looked older, little wrinkles around his eyes, and his hair hung long and lank around a face that was too thin to be the Bucky that Steve had known. It was as if someone had made a wax mannequin of Bucky, close, and eerily so, but not right.

The Soldier’s eyes fell to the book in his metal hand, and he looked back at Steve. “What is this?” His voice was like rocks being put through a grinder, but soft, softer than Bucky had ever been, though Steve had no problem hearing him.

Steve swayed a bit in place, taking a step forward to come inside and close the door behind him. The last thing he needed was his neighbors thinking he’d finally lost it. “They’re comic books; I write them, draw them too.” He gestured to his desk, still littered with sketches and bits of eraser fuzz. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up; some part of him screaming that the man he was faced with was dangerous. Maybe he should have left the door open.

The Soldier blinked slowly at him. “This is me.” He brushed his fingers over the cover, where Steve’s Winter Soldier was locked in battle with Captain America.

Steve was pretty sure he wasn’t the only person in the room who had lost it. He had no idea what was happening but this was officially the least funny prank anyone had ever pulled. “He’s a comic book character.”

The Soldier’s eyes landed on the photo of Bucky on the other side of the room, neatly framed beside the flag they’d given Steve at his memorial service.

“You know me.” The Soldier squinted at him, his expression distrustful and scared.  
Steve crossed his arms over his chest. “I know the Winter Soldier, and I know Bucky Barnes. You’re neither of those people.” He didn’t mean to sound so cold, but it was everything that he could do not to go over and touch the man’s face, just to see if he was really real.

“Barnes, James Buchanan, 3255…” The words seemed to fall out of The Soldier’s mouth, and he stared at Steve with wide eyes. “I am not him.”

Steve was dumbstruck. There was no way that this man knew Bucky’s whole name and his serial number, not even Steve remembered Bucky’s army code well enough to cite it back. “You better do some explaining, pal.” Steve found his hands balling up into fists, and he took a step forward. As if he could stand up to the brick house of a man in front of him.

The Soldier just stared at him, realization and fear flickering over his face. “Your name is Steve.”  
Steve rocked back on his heels, his head spinning. Clearly the information was just as disorienting to the Soldier, who shook his head like a dog would flick off a fly before digging his fingers into his unkept hair and giving it a yank.

“Don’t-!” Steve jumped forward, holding his hands up when the Soldier snarled at him and sunk into a defensive crouch, letting go of his hair and pulling out a wicked-looking knife. Steve’s blood ran cold and he stumbled backward. This man was dangerous, it poured off him in waves, making Steve feel like he was drowning.

“You’re not my Steve. He’s big.” the Soldier hissed, his eyes dropping to the comic that he still had clutched in his fingers. “ _This_ is my Steve. Was little, like you…” The words trailed off and he jerked his head again, his hair falling over his face. “Don’t remember…”

Steve felt like he was going to be sick. This was no joke, this was a nightmare. “Bucky?” He tried, his voice small. “It’s okay, you don’t have to remember.”

The Soldier, Bucky, whoever he was, turned his gaze on Steve again. “The machine, brought me here.” He twisted, snatching one of the sketches off of Steve’s wall so hard that it tore itself free of the tack, and brandished it at Steve. “ _This_ machine.”

Steve stared at him, at the sketch in his hand. “That’s not a real machine. I had a dream about a machine that used light to transport matter through time, was going to integrate it into the comics. Maria told me it was stupid, so I scrapped it.” The sketch in question showed his Winter Soldier in front of the intimidating machine, bathed in bright light in an otherwise black scene, his back to the viewer and his head up in defiance. It had been the only scene he remembered from the dream, and even as he’d sketched it he’d felt a bit silly.

The Soldier shook the paper at him, his fingers coming up to dig at his scalp again. He’d dropped Steve’s comic, and he was shaking like a leaf. Steve edged closer, worry burning in his chest. It looked like he was having a panic attack. Steve took a cautious step toward him, reaching out to brush his fingers over the metal of his left arm.

As quickly as he felt the warmth of the metal the Soldier had fastened that same hand around Steve’s throat, his eyes empty and angry once more. Steve scrabbled at the impossibly strong hold, wheezing.

“You will tell me what is going on.” The Soldier snarled, though behind his icy fury Steve could see that he was scared, like a wild dog backed into a corner. “Who are you?” He released his death-grip on Steve’s throat suddenly, and Steve crumpled to the ground, clutching as his chest as he tried to regain his breath. 

Shit, _shit,_ not now. Steve wheezed, his irritated throat threatening to close off his air entirely.

“N-need…inhaler…” Steve managed to wheeze out, trying to pull himself up to get to his bag by the door.

The Soldier was back to being Bucky again, his eyes wide as he knelt down next to Steve, both hands fluttering but too afraid to touch.

“It’s…”Steve tried to tell him what to do, but he couldn’t get any air, panic creeping in and making the attack that much worse. Suddenly there was the blunt end of his inhaler pressed against his lips, and Steve grabbed at it like a dying man, hell, he _was_ a dying man, pressing the button on the top and trying to get a full breath of the medicine.

It took a few more pulls off his inhaler for his airways to open up, and Steve stayed on the floor, trying to breathe through it and not pass out, his eyes watering and his whole body aching.

The Soldier was keeping a safe distance, his eyes sad and worried and his mouth a tight line. Steve sat up slowly, taking another long look at the man. He had Bucky’s face, but everything else was different. Even then, they could have been brothers rather than the same person. The Soldier’s life had hardened him, taken the roundness from his cheeks and hollowed out his eyes. He stood at a tense kind of rest, looking like he was ready to move at the slightest sign of a problem. His arm must have been heavy, he was overcompensating for it, leaning just slightly to the right. Steve felt his heart ache, even if this wasn’t his Bucky, no man deserved to go through half of what the Soldier had endured.

“I’m okay now.” Steve managed after swallowing a few times. “Your Steve had asthma?” That couldn’t be right, Steve and Bucky hadn’t met until after Steve had the serum, Steve had been too timid to add Bucky at the beginning of the story, though he’d had a whole arc planned out. 

The Soldier nodded, his tongue flicking out to brush over his lip in what might have been a nervous habit, but he didn’t say anything more.

“As for what’s going on, you have as good of a guess as I do.” Steve retrieved his drawing from the floor, looking over it again like it might provide answers. “I mean, you’re really the Winter Soldier.” He flicked his gaze toward the comic as well. “But you’re not my Winter Soldier,” 

Picking himself up off the ground slowly Steve set the drawing and the comic on his desk. He was honestly at a loss. What did you do when you had an amnesiac assassin in your house with the face of a dead man, who claimed to have been brought here through space and time? At this rate Steve was going to need more than a drink. “Why don’t we have something to eat, and then we can go from there? I haven’t had anything since a granola bar this morning. Anything sound good?”

The Soldier blinked at him. “I don’t eat.” He looked a little disgusted, his metal hand coming up to brush over his other arm.

Steve felt his heart sink. Shit, an IV? What, had they been feeding him through a tube for the last 70 years? Just the thought made Steve’s stomach roll. “Okay, uh, why don’t we try something simple? I think I have everything to make a smoothie, something that’ll be easy on your stomach.” He made a beeline for the kitchen, grabbing a banana that was only slightly brown out of the bowl on the counter.

The Soldier trailed after him, looking uncomfortable and tired. Steve felt worry tug at his chest. How was he supposed to deal with this? The Soldier was a problem of biblical proportions, and he had no idea where to even begin helping him.

“What can I call you?” Steve asked as he peeled the banana and dug around for some applesauce. He’d been down with the flu enough times to know the things that your stomach would accept without too much fuss. “I’m not calling you Soldier. And I don’t think you really want me to call you Bucky.”

The Soldier twitched, shaking his head again. “Sasha. I’ve been called Sasha.”

Steve hummed, shoving the various ingredients into the blender and pulling it forward so that it wouldn’t try to jump off the counter before turning it on. “Sasha it is then.” He gave the blender a little shake to dislodge the banana stuck at the bottom. If there was one thing that his mother had taught him, it was if someone came to your house, you fed them; even if they were an amnesiac assassin from an alternate dimension.

Steve finished shaking the smoothie, hoping that the color wasn’t too unappetizing as he poured it in a glass and slid it across the counter to where Sasha had perched on one of the bar-stools.

“I hope you don’t mind banana-” Steve stared as Sasha downed the whole smoothie in a few gulps. Hell, even eating was honed to fiercely efficient movements. Once he was done Sasha’s face screwed up, his nose crinkling.

“That was _not_ banana.”

Steve made a grab for the glass. Shit, had the banana been bad and he hadn’t noticed it? _Way to go Rogers._ Running his finger along the inside of the blender he popped it in his mouth. It tasted fine, a bit bland, but not bad? “Tastes okay to me, I can try something else-”

Sasha was staring at him again, his eyes slightly unfocused as he stared resolutely at the middle-distance between them.

“Sasha?” Steve wanted to reach out to touch him again, but that hadn’t gone over so well the first time. “Bucky?” Still, the other man sat silently, like an empty shell. “Soldier?” Steve tried.

Sasha jerked his head again, his metal arm whirring like a computer when its fan came on. “Ready to comply.”

Rubbing his hands over his face Steve sighed. He’d created the Winter Soldier, and felt guilty every second of it, putting him through all those terrible things, but it was so much more painful to see the man scooped out of the ghost in front of him. There was no way he could have ever captured it in his comics. Sasha continued to stare at him, waiting patiently to be told what to do. Steve had a moment of stomach-churning realization that he could likely tell Sasha to do anything, and he would do it without question.

“I’m not your handler Sasha.” He wasn’t sure what to say, but he knew better than to touch. “I won’t give you orders.” Steve felt guilt crowd his mind when Sasha’s face twisted in confusion, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips again.

God, Steve had really stepped in it this time. “Would you like to take a shower?” He didn’t know what else to do besides keep asking for Sasha’s opinion on things. He was sure that he hadn’t been given a lot of choice in the last few decades.

Sasha winced. “N-no…” It was barely above a whisper, and Steve wasn’t sure he had heard it at all, his heart sinking at the idea of what they could have done to make Sasha so opposed to something as simple as a shower.

“A bath then? I’m sure it’d be nice to be clean.” He didn’t want to treat Sasha like a child; he was a grown man. Steve wasn’t going to push him, but he had no idea what to do in this kind of situation. He’d spent a lot of time researching everything that could affect the Winter Soldier from his comics, but researching PTSD and dehumanization and seeing it sitting in front of him were completely different. “I could help wash your hair.” He felt a bit silly suggesting it, but Sasha’s eyes lit up when he did. Steve put the blender and Sasha’s glass in the sink, gesturing to the other man to follow him as he led the way to the bathroom.

“I’ll start filling the tub, then I’ll let-” He turned to see Sasha was already undressing, setting his tac vest neatly on the counter next to the sink. Jesus, he had a lot of knives on him. Steve politely averted his gaze as he dumped bubble-bath into the warm water and swirled it around, not sure if he should laugh or cry at the absurdity of this situation.

Letting Sasha sink into the water, Steve went to grab a towel from the closet, setting it on the toilet and giving Sasha a reassuring smile as the big man sat in the bubbly water with his knees to his chest.

“Just relax for a bit okay? I’ll be back to wash your hair before the water gets cold.” Sasha nodded, though he made no move to relax. Steve was sure that just letting himself sit in the tub was taking all of Sasha’s nerves; he was placing a lot of trust in Steve already.

Steve gave himself a long moment to stand in the livingroom with his hands on his knees as he tried not to hyperventilate. He was in so far over his head. This whole thing was crazy. He’d clearly completely lost it, thinking that one of his comic-book characters had come to life. What the hell was he supposed to do in this situation? Sasha needed to go to a hospital, and definitely a psychologist, and probably be given a big hug every morning and every night. How was he supposed to help in this situation? It wasn’t like he could call up his friends and tell them any of this, or god-forbid, the police find out. His chest was starting to feel tight again so Steve pushed himself up, taking a deep breath and trying to focus. Sasha’s more immediate needs were his focus right now. He’d figure out what else to do later. Gathering up his bag and picking up his pencils Steve dropped them all onto his desk. The last thing that he wanted to think about right now was his comic. He couldn’t help but feel guilty, like if he hadn’t created the Winter Soldier then maybe Sasha would have been spared his suffering. He looked up at the sketch of his mother that he had hung up with all his design drawings, then over to the framed photo of Bucky on the other wall.

“You two are no help.” He muttered to himself as he finished stowing his bag and headed back for the bathroom.

Sasha snapped to attention as soon as Steve pushed the door open, looking even more exhausted than when Steve had left him, he’d clearly been dozing off.

“Hey.” Steve moved slowly, kneeling down next to the tub. He was lucky his apartment even had one, though he didn’t use it to take baths much, it was heaven when his back was feeling particularly bad. The bubbled were thick enough to cover most of Sasha’s body, but even turned away Steve could see that his left shoulder was a mess of scar tissue. God, his arm was beautiful though, so much more refined than he could ever capture in his drawings. “You still want me to wash your hair?”

Sasha gave him a tiny nod, though he watched carefully as Steve reached for the shampoo, and actually flinched when Steve dolloped some onto his head. God, just the though of whoever had hurt this man made Steve want to scream. No one deserved that, ever. He might not be the Bucky that Steve had grown up with, or the Soldier that he’d fabricated in his head, but Sasha deserved better.

“I’m going to touch you.” Steve said softly before he reached out to start rubbing the shampoo in, Sasha tensed, one of the muscles in his jaw jumping, but then sagged like a puppet with its strings cut, leaning into Steve’s touch as his eyelids fluttered. Oh good, Steve was going to have to add touch-starved to his list of ailments- though honestly he’d be more than happy to help Sasha re-establish positive touch. He’d been touch-shy for a while after one of his long stints in the hospital, his skin crawling whenever someone accidentally brushed against him on the subway for months. Sasha’s head bobbed a little as Steve worked the shampoo into his hair, his eyes actually sliding closed for a moment before he forced them back open.

“I went to talk to Maria, my boss, about a new storyline for my comic today. She liked it.” Steve wasn’t sure why he felt the need to fill the silence, but he couldn’t stop himself. “I feel a little silly writing it now though, seeing as you’re real and all…”

Sasha continued to relax slowly as Steve yammered on about his day and washed his hair, making sure to close his eyes before Steve dumped the water over his head to wash out the shampoo.

Once he’d gotten Sasha’s hair clean Steve gave him a washcloth and let him scrub himself down.

“You can dry off and I’ll find you some clothes, okay?” Steve pulled himself up, rubbing his knees and wincing a bit when his back popped. “I should have something that’ll fit you.”

Making sure to close the bathroom door behind him Steve went to dig through his closet. He still had some of Bucky’s clothes, and even though Sasha was definitely bigger than his Bucky they should fit well-enough. Pushing down the ache in his chest as he brushed his fingers over one of Bucky’s soft shirts, he pulled it off the hanger, giving himself a moment to bury his face in it before he gathered himself again and went in search of pants. He had more important things to focus on right now than his grief. Knocking gently on the bathroom door Steve opened it just enough to set the pile clothes on the counter. “Let me know if they don’t fit.” He didn’t get a response and resigned himself to curling up in his desk chair.

Steve grabbed one of the scraps of paper that littered his desk and started to sketch, a small frown on his face as he focused on trying to capture the feeling in Sasha’s eyes. He’d never seen anyone that looked so haunted, and even looking at his drawing made him feel slightly uncomfortable. He wanted to help, but this whole situation was pretty messed up. Retrieving the sketch Sasha had pulled off of the wall Steve examined it again, a chill going down his spine. The machine he’d dreamt about had brought Sasha here from not just a different time but a whole different world? One where the Winter Soldier and HYDRA were more than comic book stories? He jumped when the bathroom door opened, his jaw actually falling open when he saw Sasha.

He looked so much _better_. Already Sasha looked like a new man, his cheeks flushed and his hair curling a bit as it dried. His Bucky always had cheekbones to die for, and Sasha’s were just the same, his eyes were even a little brighter than before. It seemed like Bucky’s clothes fit alright, and Sasha looked comfortable enough as he hitched the sweatpants a little higher on his hips. God, but he was skinny, he seemed to be all hardened muscle, over sharp corners. Steve made a mental note to feed him as much as possible.

“Do you feel better?” Steve managed to squeak out, swallowing past the lump in his throat. _Not now Rogers, do not ogle the assassin, no matter how much he looks like Bucky._

Sasha shrugged, though only his right shoulder moved. He seemed to be leaning a little more than before. God, he must be exhausted. Steve pulled himself up again, tucking his drawing in amongst the pile of others. “You can sleep in my bed, you look tired.”

Sasha actually snorted, though his head jerked when he did like he hadn’t expected the noise either. “I don’t… Haven’t slept in a bed in…” He didn’t seem to know, his face screwing up as he tried to remember.

Steve crossed his arms over his skinny chest. “Well you’re going to now. No negotiation.” He brushed past Sasha toward his room, grabbing the blankets to start changing the sheets.

“Steve…” Sasha murmured from the doorway, his arms hanging limply at his sides.

Steve froze, his chest aching as he dug his fingers into the blankets. Why, oh why, did it have to be Bucky? He shook himself, looking up at Sasha - Sasha who was _not_ his Bucky, and did not deserve to be treated like he was. “It’s fine, really.”

Sasha shook his head, his damp hair covering his face again as he hung his head. “Keep your bed. Won’t sleep anyway.” He looked about ready to fall asleep where he stood, his posture continuing to sag as his heavy metal arm pulled him off-balance. Steve gave up on the blankets, reaching out to lead Sasha back into the livingroom but thinking better than to touch him when he flinched away once more.

“I can set you up on the couch. One of the sides reclines, it should be fairly comfortable.” Sam had gotten him the couch after Steve’s old one had finally sagged its way almost to the floor. Steve had insisted it was too nice, but he did love it.

There was a spare room next to Steve’s, and he felt guilt twist up in his chest. He never had guests, so the room had become overflow, filled with art supplies and boxes of things he never used. First thing tomorrow he would have to get to cleaning it out. Sasha didn’t deserve to sleep on his couch, no matter how nice it was. 

Sasha trailed after him, sinking onto the couch with a small sigh. He looked up at Steve as he proceeded to bundle him in blankets, seemingly too tired to argue. Steve felt his heart clench with the trust that Sasha was already showing him, this was probably the first time he’d been treated gently in who knew how long.

“I’ll be in my room if you need anything, the TV remote is…” He dug around his desk for it, setting it on the coffee table in front of the couch. “If you want some background noise, sometimes it helps me sleep.” Sasha just blinked slowly at him. “Okay, well, goodnight then.” Steve knew it was still early, barely even dark, but he was emotionally drained enough to sleep for about a week.

Pulling the bedroom door closed behind him Steve sank onto the bed, turning his head when he heard the soft mumble of the TV. Had Sasha ever watched TV? What else had Sasha never done? A headache was starting to bloom between his eyes and Steve rubbed his hands over his face. He needed to figure out what the hell he was going to do, but he honestly just wanted to go to bed and deal with this in the morning. 

Steve got exactly 3 hours of sleep before Sasha woke up screaming. Steve jumped out of bed so fast that he smashed into the wall, cursing and stumbling his way out of his room as he mashed his glasses onto his face. Sasha was curled up in a tiny ball, his fingers buried in his hair again as he shook so hard his metal arm was actually rattling. Steve rushed forward, but snatched his hands back before he could touch the shaking man. The last time he’d tried that he’d wound up gasping for air, who knew what would happen this time. “Sasha-”

Sasha released his grip on his hair, though his shaking seemed to redouble. It looked like he was going to shake apart. He raised his gaze to Steve’s, though there was no flicker of recognition in his eyes. He had tear-tracks down his cheeks, and he’d bitten his lip bloody. Steve knelt down next to him, holding his hands out and trying to be as non-threatening as possible. He didn’t want to make Sasha feel worse that he clearly already did.

“Hey, you’re alright. You’re safe.” Steve didn’t know if he was really alright, but he was sure that Sasha was safe here, he’d do everything to help Sasha feel safe.

Sasha looked at him. “I don’t think I’m worth all this Steve… you don’t know me.”

Steve crossed his arms, sitting down fully. “I damn well think you’re worth it.”

Sasha dropped his gaze again. “I’ve hurt a lot of people…” He scrunched his face up again, taking a deep and shaky breath.

“That wasn’t you though, it was-”

Sasha’s head snapped up and he fixed Steve with his hard gaze again. “It was me. I shot them, snapped their necks-” He shuddered. “I don’t know what they did to me, but I don’t feel…right…” He dug his fingers into his hair again. “Need maintenance…” His voice had gone hollow again, but at least his shaking had slowed down.

Steve felt his heart sink through the floor. He needed to take Sasha to a doctor or something. Who knew what they’d done to him? He had purposefully left most of the technical aspects of the Winter Soldier’s brainwashing up in the air in his comic, but now he couldn’t help but think about all the things that they could have done to hurt him.

“I’m sorry I woke you.” Sasha muttered into his arm. “I’ll be more quiet…”

Steve scooted closer to him, leaning against him slowly and trying to ignore the way that Sasha tensed. “I’ll sit right here. You can tell me, or not.”

Sasha stayed tense, his arm whirring softly as he flexed his fingers. “You don’t want to know, trust me.”

Steve fell asleep like that, his head pillowed against Sasha’s shoulder, the soft murmur of the TV the only other noise in his apartment.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve woke up in his bed, tangled in his blankets. He kicked at them, cramming his glasses back on his face. He had not dreamed everything that had happened yesterday. There was no way-

Sasha was sitting at the kitchen table, Steve’s laptop open in front of him. He looked up sharply when Steve pulled the door to his room open. Sasha did not look good, even more tired than last night, his skin having lost the momentary healthy flush from his shower and leaving him looking drained.

“You…okay?” Steve mumbled, still trying to rub the sleepiness out of his face.

Sasha stared at him for another moment before he shook his head. “Feel worse…” He curled in on himself a little, and Steve could see how much it hurt him to say anything at all. He must feel really bad.

“Oh, you- wait, you’re using my computer?” Steve plopped down into the chair next to him.

Sasha shrugged; his right shoulder bobbing and his left only wiggling a little. “I know how to use a computer. The password is your birthday, not the most secure.”

Steve sputtered. “I don’t usually have to worry about people looking through it- You know my birthday?”

Sasha nodded. “It’s the same as my Steve. I also looked through your wallet.”

Steve flushed, running his fingers through his hair to push it back out of his eyes. “Your Steve… tell me about him.”

Sasha sighed, wringing his hands together and closing Steve’s computer. “I don’t remember much. Knew him since we were kids, think his health was even worse than yours. He died in the war.”

Steve’s head jerked up. “He died?”

Sasha nodded. “Those bastards…they taunted me with it. He died just before the war ended.”

“Crashed a plane into the ice?” Steve supplied, Sasha stared at him, his eyebrows coming together in a frown. Steve pulled himself up, going to grab one of the old issues of his Cap comic off the shelf. “That’s how I ended the first arc.” He flipped the book open to the last few pages. “But he survives, just stays frozen for a while.”

Sasha gingerly took the book from him, brushing his fingers over the pages. “This isn’t a comic book. He didn’t survive…” He was shaking again, and he quickly closed the book and pushed it away from him. “I don’t want to go back.”

Steve touched his arm gently. “Even if I knew how to send you back I wouldn’t make you go.”  
Sasha looked over at him and Steve blundered on, “You’re safe here, I meant that. There’s no one to hurt you here.”

Sasha stood up quickly, breathing hard, and pacing the length of the living room. Steve watched him, not sure what he should do. Sasha stopped in the middle of the floor and started to shake again, and it took a long moment for Steve to realize that he was laughing. It started small, barely a giggle, but then he threw his head back and laughed, real and full and elated.

Steve was pretty sure Sasha had lost it completely. He sat frozen in his chair, letting the man laugh himself out, until he was wiping his face with his flesh hand and sagging a little once more.

“I never thought about it that way. I’m really in a totally different place. No HYDRA, no damn book of trigger words.” Sasha ran his fingers through his hair, a slightly manic smile on his face.

“You could do whatever you wanted.” Steve piped up, pulling his computer over and opening it up again.

Sasha had sunk into himself once more, his expression stormy and his eyes tight with concern. “What if they send someone to look for me?”

Steve looked up at him. “They won’t. How are they supposed to follow you into a different dimension?”

Sasha paced back to the table. “I should go back and kill them all.” His voice was dark and thick. “I could.”

Steve grabbed his hand, tightening his grip when Sasha turned his hard eyes on him. “Don’t. No more killing. You can move on.”

Sasha sagged once again, dropping back into his chair. “What if they find out where I am? You don’t know what they’re capable of.” He was looking haunted again, picking at a loose thread on his shirt. “You don’t get it.”

Steve sighed. “You’re right, I don’t. But I know that this has to be better than what you had going, you know?”

Sasha gave a tiny nod, ducking his head again. “I don’t want to do that anymore.” His gaze stuck to the picture of Bucky on the far wall. “What about you? What about your Bucky?”

Steve tried to look like he was immersed in his computer, but Sasha’s gaze bore into the side of his head until he gave up with a sigh. “My Bucky as a good man, like you.”

Sasha snorted, looking only slightly less surprised than the first time he’d done it. “You don’t have to lie.”

Steve huffed, snapping his computer closed. “I’m not lying. My Bucky was a good man. He joined the army because he wanted to help people. He…he died too.” The words could barely force their way out of his throat. It had been three years since Bucky died, but Steve still missed him every day.

Sasha stood, going to brush his fingers over the edge of the frame that contained the picture of Bucky in his military dress, the one they’d used at his funeral. “You must miss him terribly.” He looked down at himself. “I’m a poor substitute.”

Steve didn’t know what to say. He knew that Sasha wasn’t his Bucky. So they looked similar, had the same soft hair and the same little dimple in their chins, but they couldn’t be more different. He was trying to wrap his head around the fact that the real Winter Soldier was here in his house, talking to him, but he was honestly trying not to think about alternate realities, now or ever.

_“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Rogers…”_ Steve muttered to himself, brushing his hair off his forehead again. He let himself examine Sasha for a long moment. Despite the obvious physical similarity there was just something about Sasha that reminded him distinctly of his Bucky. They’d probably had none of the same life experiences, but something about them felt just the same, though Steve couldn’t place it.

Sasha was still examining the photo, touching his own face gently. “So… it’s really all make-believe here.” He sighed. “I wish that made me feel better.” As he tucked his hair behind his ear, both of them jumped as his stomach gave a loud growl. Steve couldn’t help but burst out laughing at the surprise on Sasha’s face. He got a flat look in response, but it just made him laugh harder.

“I-I’m sorry, I just- you looked so surprised and I-” Steve was so tired, and so far out of his depth with just about everything that had happened since yesterday that now that he had started laughing he couldn’t seem to stop. Slowly he forced himself to take deep breaths so that he wouldn’t throw himself into another asthma fit. “Let me make you something to eat.”

Sasha frowned harder. “No bananas. I don’t know what you did to them, but those are _not_ bananas.”

Steve threw his hands up. “Fine. We’ll try rice then. Otherwise you’ll more than likely just throw it up.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Steve was glad that he worked from home and only had to meet with Maria every other week. It allowed him the privilege to drop all his responsibilities to help Sasha. He didn’t feel great about not working on his comic, but the thought of writing it now, with the real Winter Soldier under his roof, just felt…icky. Steve meticulously put away all his sketches and notebooks, feeling a little silly with his unfinished plotlines. How was he supposed to justify working now?

The spare room was a thorn in his side, he’d managed to tidy it up, moving all of his art supplies into the closet and picking up his stacks of canvases. Though Sasha insisted that it was fine, and he didn’t need a room, Steve wasn’t going to take that as an answer. Sasha was his guest, for who knew how long, and he was going to have a room of his own and things to cherish if it was over Steve’s dead body.

Sasha in general was a constant enigma. It seemed he went from teasing Steve about his glasses to staring blankly into space and murmuring in garbled Russian at the drop of a hat. Though there were often setbacks, Sasha was improving. It turned out that he could eat more than rice, though when they’d tried to push it on the third day he’d spent the rest of the afternoon throwing up and shaking on the floor of the bathroom. He also refused to leave Steve’s apartment, a genuine look of fear invading his eyes when Steve had brought it up. They both knew that Sasha couldn’t stay inside forever, but Steve was willing to let him work it out for as long as possible. It made him feel good that Sasha felt safe in his apartment, it was better than nothing.

They’d fallen into a strange sort of calm around each other. Sasha was still on edge most of the time, but Steve felt like he was making leaps and bounds of progress. It was obvious that it was hard for him, but by the fourth day Sasha had started to ask for things, and though he’d spent the fifth staring silently into thin air and refusing to eat, Steve was still hopeful. He would help Sasha if it was the last thing he did.

“I’ve been doing a lot of research online about how to help you regain your memories.” Steve piped up on the sixth day. “It said it can help you to write stuff down. I got you a notebook and some pens, and some colored tabs, so you can organize stuff.”

Sasha blinked at him, but took the little notebook and cradled it against his chest, immediately taking the pens and setting to work writing things down. He kept his arm around the notebook so that Steve couldn’t see his scribbles.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to look at it. It’s yours.” Sasha just pulled the book closer to him, head bent as he scribbled furiously, occasionally crossing things out and rewriting them.

Steve was true to his word, and no matter how curious he was about the things Sasha wrote about, he kept his hands off his notebook.

Sasha still didn’t sleep more than a few hours at a time, and he always woke up in bad shape. Steve offered him medicine once to try and help him fall asleep, but Sasha had downed the whole bottle with minimal effect, and it just left him scared and groggy for a few hours, so overall worse than being tired.

Resolutely refusing to work on his comic had started to bite Steve in the ass by the end of the first week. Every time he looked at his desk he felt guilt crash down on him. It wasn’t Sasha’s fault that he wasn’t working, though he definitely used him as an excuse. Instead Steve spent most of his time sketching, filling up whole notebooks with studies of Sasha, the curve of his lips, or the way his hair fell over his shoulders, or the details of his arm, both of which were stunning. Steve still blushed every time that Sasha caught him sketching, though Steve knew that Sasha held still sometimes just so that he could finish a pose.

There were about 10,000 things that Steve refused to think about at any given time; it seemed his personal motto had become “I’ll think about it later.” He was happy for once, even though watching the days Sasha had setbacks were hard, it was so inspiring to see the progress he made.

After a week Steve bought him some hairties and showed him a few YouTube videos of how to pull his hair up out of his face. Sasha didn’t know how to use Steve’s shoddy electric razor, so Steve went and got him an old-fashioned straight razor from the barbershop uptown, and definitely did not get an intense enjoyment out of watching Sasha shave. _Nope, no sir._

Steve felt like a complete a-hole making Sasha sleep on the couch-not that Sasha slept much anyway, or really at all from what Steve could tell. Meanwhile, the second bedroom continued to be inhabited by piles of boxes. Neither of them thought that Sasha was ready to go out into the world and go mall-hopping, so instead they sat on the couch and ordered Sasha a few things, a mattress that would be comfy but not too soft, at Sasha’s insistence, as well as hunting craigslist for some second-hand furniture to furnish his room with. Steve neatly ignored any of Sasha’s small protests that he was doing too much, adding more things to the list on his phone. Sasha deserved to have nice things, and Steve wanted to be the one to give them to him.

Steve managed to get everything up the stairs without help much to Sasha’s chagrin, and the boxes arrived later the same day, urging them into a frenzy of Steve flipping through directions on how to put together a bedside table while Sasha moved boxes from one room to the other.

“Why are these in every language except English?” Steve grumbled, crossing his legs as he spread out the screws and bolts beside him. Sasha set down the box he was carrying and plucked the directions from Steve’s hands.

“German works for me.” He mumbled, nudging Steve with his foot. “We’re trading jobs.”

Steve gladly pulled himself up, letting Sasha thumb through the mess of hardware. “Perfect. I’m going to organize canvases.”

It didn’t take them too much longer to get everything put away, and though Steve’s room was a bit of a disaster it made happiness swell in his chest as Sasha curled up on his new bed to test it out.

“Wow Steve.” Sasha made a small happy noise, grabbing one of his pillows and curling himself around it like a happy cat, peering at Steve from the bed. “This is amazing.”

Steve flushed, ducking his head and scratching at the back of his neck. “Don’t worry about it.”


	4. Chapter 4

Steve was enjoying Sasha’s company so much that he honestly forgot about the rest of his life. Besides pointedly ignoring his comics, he also left his phone off. It wasn’t the first time he’d dropped off the planet for a while; he was sick often enough that people tended to expect him to disappear. He begged off his appointment with Maria to the next week, feeling a little guilty about claiming that he was too sick to work, but knowing it was for the best.

It didn’t occur to him how long they had been holed up until he was startled out of sketching by angry knocking on his door.

“Rogers! You better be home! You think you can avoid my phone calls for weeks? You better not be dead!”

Sasha had produced a knife from somewhere, though Steve didn’t want to know where he had been keeping it in his constant attire of sweatpants and t-shirts, his posture going rigid as he stalked toward the door.

Steve jumped up, throwing pencils everywhere in his scramble to beat Sasha to the door. _“Sasha, don’t worry, it’s just Natasha.”_ He hissed, pushing on the bigger man’s chest when he didn’t look down at him, only a little annoyed that Sasha didn’t even move when he shoved at him. Schooling his voice into a semblance of calm that he definitely did not feel Steve tried to come up with an excuse not to see his friend.

“Hey Nat, sorry, I uh, I’ve been sick,” He scrambled for something, anything, to not have to explain his life right now. “Throwing up. I’m all right now-”

“Open the damn door, or I’ll open it myself.” Natasha was clearly past annoyed, into worried and angry. It was Steve’s own fault for not checking his phone. Idiot, idiot.

“Alright, alright, I’m opening it.” Steve winced as he undid the deadbolt, giving Sasha another hard look and mouthing “ _knife away!”_ as he pulled it open to reveal his friend giving him a very cold stare.

“You’re the world’s worst liar. What have you been doing for three weeks?” She brushed her fiery hair behind her ear; she’d gotten into the habit of straightening it lately, and wearing more casual clothes than before.

Steve chewed his lip. “Yeah, I uh- I lied about being sick. I wasn’t sure-how to tell you…” Or anyone for that matter. He’d kind of hoped to just not deal with that ever.

Natasha crossed her arms over her chest, stepping neatly around him and right into Sasha. She jumped back, her eyes huge and her mouth open in shock. “Steve what-”

“Natalia?” Sasha gasped, his eyes round.

Steve twisted to stare at Sasha, his mouth dropping open as well as he looked between the two of them. 

Sasha took a step forward and Natasha took one back, her face screwed up in confusion. 

“Steve, you better start explaining-”

Sasha took another step forward, rattling off in hurried and clipped Russian. Natasha's eyes widened even further. 

Steve pushed between them, shoving at Sasha’s chest when he stayed focused on Nat. “Sasha! Hey!” Sasha shook his head sharply, snapping out of his laser focus on Natasha and staring down at Steve instead. 

“Hey…” Steve repeated more softly, “You're scaring her.” 

Sasha looked up again, his posture relaxing as he took a moment to look over Natasha again. “I'm sorry. You look like someone I knew.” Sasha muttered, licking his lips nervously. 

Natasha had gone back to looking unflappable again, straightening her shoulders and leveling an analytical eye on Sasha. “Back at you.” She turned to Steve, her expression intense. 

Steve resisted the urge to quail under her intense stare, scrambling to try and formulate a plan for how to even begin to explain himself. “Uh, Sasha, why don't you give us a minute to talk.” Steve was already nudging Natasha through the still-open door, pulling it shut behind them. 

As soon as the door closed Natasha rounded on him, and Steve threw his hands up to try and stave off the onslaught she was readying for him. 

“What the hell have you done this time Steve?” Natasha hissed.

Steve crossed his arms over his thin chest, for once refusing to rise to her argument. “Trust me Nat, if I knew what was going on I’d gladly tell you,” He sighed, “I got home from my last meeting with Maria and the freaking Winter Soldier was standing in my living room.” He stuck out his chin, daring her to challenge him, “He's been trying to come to terms with being free of HYDRA.” Natasha raised an eyebrow at him but he blundered on. “I know, it sounds nuts, but it's the truth. He really is the Winter Soldier, from a different timeline. He's not my Winter Soldier, but…” Steve trailed off, not sure what else to say. 

Natasha had leaned back against the door, her expression going unreadable as she processed what Steve had said. “So… he _not _Bucky, but he _is_ Bucky…” __

__“He's not. He's _Sasha_. I- he doesn't deserve me to treat him any differently because he happens to look…” He trailed off. “I'm getting there…” The thought of just how similar the two were raised its head once more, but Steve resolutely shoved it back down. _ _

__Natasha brushed her fingers over his cheek, giving him a soft smile. “You're right, it is crazy, but it's not like I can argue with you when the proof is in front of my face. It's good of you to help him.”She sighed, her expression going unreadable, “But if he _is_ the Winter Soldier, then he's dangerous. Beyond dangerous.” _ _

__Steve stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Tell me something I don't know. He's trying, and I can't watch him suffer without helping. This is a good place for him, he feels safe here.”_ _

__“I’m not saying you have to kick him out. I'm just saying, be careful around him.” She sighed, “How are you going to explain him? He can't just stay in your apartment forever. He's literally a dead man walking.”_ _

__Steve winced, his hands balling involuntarily into fists. “I know that. I'm trying to think of something. I don't want to rush him.”_ _

__They both jumped when the door to Steve's apartment opened, Natasha barely managing to keep from stumbling backwards. Sasha had pulled his hair up again, though he still looked nervous. “I don't mean to eavesdrop, but I can still hear you through the door.” He wrung his hands together. “I don't want to be a burden. I really appreciate Steve’s help.”_ _

__Natasha had crossed her arms again, looking Sasha up and down. “You won't hurt him, right?”_ _

__“Nat!” Steve hissed, but Sasha cut him off._ _

__“No. I know I'm dangerous. My brain is scrambled eggs most of the time, but I won't hurt him.” Sasha murmured._ _

__“Sasha-” Steve tried again._ _

__Natasha clapped her hands together, breaking out in a grin. “Problem solved. Have you ever had golubtsi?”_ _

__Sasha shook his head, trailing after Natasha like a puppy and not a highly trained assassin as she told him all about her favorite recipes. Steve pushed down the twinge of jealousy in his chest, it wasn't like Sasha was his to keep, he could give his attention to whomever he liked. Okay, maybe he had gotten a little possessive._ _

__“Steve, why don't you take Sasha and get a few things from the store? I’ll get the beef defrosting.” Natasha was already digging in the freezer, having produced an onion and a carrot seemingly out of thin air. Nat didn't cook often, but when she did it was always great._ _

__Steve brushed his hair out of his eyes, flicking his gaze to Sasha who was looking decidedly uncomfortable._ _

__“You don't have to come with me. I'm sure I can manage.” Steve murmured, “It’s only a couple blocks.” He didn't want to make Sasha go if he didn't feel up to it. Leave it to Natasha to make things difficult._ _

__Sasha shook himself, his expression determined. “I can go.” It sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as Steve. “Do you uh, have some gloves?” He turned his metal hand over absently, rolling his fingers into a fist._ _

__Steve nodded, going to dig through the coat closet to see if he still had a pair of Bucky’s mechanic gloves. “Go ahead and change.” He called, “I’ll find them.” Bucky had loved to tinker with things, including cars and motorcycles, Steve had never understood why he didn't pursue it as a career, though he had done plenty of tinkering in the army as well. He let out a small noise of triumph as he found the gloves buried in the basket of winter hats, wriggling his way out of the coat snare he’d ended up caught in and caught Natasha giving him a concerned face._ _

__“What?” Steve put his hands on his hips. She always teased him for the habit, his twisted spine leaving his hips uneven and making him look “sassy as hell”, according to her. ._ _

__“I’m just worried. You know me.” Natasha tore a note from the pad that Steve always kept on the fridge, snatching a pencil from his desk to write down the things she would need for her recipe. “Make sure you get a good head of cabbage that we can take apart, boiling it whole takes forever.”_ _

__Steve nodded, folding the list neatly and smiling when Natasha managed to twist her hair into a neat little bun with his pencil. “You should teach Sasha how to do that.”_ _

__Natasha snorted. “We can have hair night some time soon.”_ _

__They both looked up when Sasha returned. Steve had moved all of Bucky’s clothes except a select few into the cluttered closet in the second bedroom. Though Sasha had preferred to live in mostly sweatpants and t-shirts, Steve had to admit that he looked really good in jeans. He had put on some weight, and he was looking less sickly now, but he was still thin. The weight of his metal arm put a swagger into his step that made Steve grin._ _

__“Is this good?” Bucky held his arms out for a moment before he tugged absently at his sleeve. They’d have to get him some more long sleeve shirts._ _

__“Yeah, looks swell.” Steve pointedly ignored the look Natasha was giving him, holding out the gloves he’d dug out of the closet. “Hope these fit.”_ _

__Sasha gave him a small smile when he took the gloves, sliding them on and flexing his fingers. “Okay. I’m ready.” Some of the tightness had resurfaced around his eyes and Steve wanted to tell him to stay home. Natasha was right though, Sasha needed to face going somewhere besides Steve’s apartment if he was going to be alright._ _

__“Great. Let’s go.” Steve grabbed a jacket off the hook by the door, checking to make sure his inhaler and his wallet were in his pocket. “We’ll be back soon Nat.”_ _

__Steve wasn’t sure what to expect once they got out his front door, but Sasha seemed to be holding it together pretty well. Sure, he looked nervous, and stuck close to Steve’s side with his cap pulled down over his face and his metal hand in his pocket, but it wasn’t a complete breakdown. A small sigh of relief crawled free of Steve’s chest. He kept up a running commentary as they walked, trying to keep Sasha distracted even as he tracked every person around them, his posture tense._ _

__“This used to be a hat shop. God, they had the ugliest hats I’ve ever seen. The owner was really fond of fake birds. Who wears hats with fake birds?” Steve smiled up at Sasha, trying to stay positive and reassuring. The grocery store was only a few blocks away, they’d be fine._ _

__Sasha’s visible nervousness redoubled once they reached the small corner grocery store, though Steve was pretty sure it had to do with the decreased amount of clear exits and increased amount of people in close quarters. Steve did his best to help keep Sasha calm and get them in and out of the store as quickly as possible, but he did take some extra time picking the perfect cabbage. It he came back with a sub-par one Natasha would undoubtedly send him out again._ _

__“Is there anything you want while we’re here Sasha?” Steve looked up at the pillar of anxiety that was his companion. Sasha jerked his head the way he had the first day, like a dog flicking off a fly, before staring blankly at Steve for a few moments._ _

__Sasha shook his head sharply, but then he stood and clearly thought about it. “Some of these?” He wandered over to the neatly arranged fruits on the other side of the greens display, picking up a dark plum from the pile. “They smell good.”_ _

__Steve grinned. “They’re plums. They’re really good. We can get some.” Sasha watched Steve pick through and find the best ones and put them in a bag, still rolling the plum he’d picked up in his metal hand._ _

__Steve added the bag of plums to the handbasket hooked on his arm once Sasha added the one he’d been holding. “Anything else?” Sasha shook his head, trailing after Steve as he made a beeline for the checkout._ _

__Sasha insisted on carrying the bags of groceries as they made the short trek back to Steve’s apartment. He was still tense, but Steve was happy that they’d made it without triggering something accidentally. People still seemed intimidated as hell by Sasha however, giving them a relatively wide berth as they walked- not that Steve minded- it was nice not to have to dodge people as they made their way down the sidewalk._ _

__Once they were safely back inside Steve’s apartment the tension in Sasha’s shoulders melted, and he stood in the livingroom and took a few deep breaths. Steve hovered, unsure of what he should do._ _

__Sasha eventually gave him a small smile. “I’m good, don’t worry so much.”_ _

__Natasha didn’t give them more than a glance , bustling around the kitchen and immediately enlisting both of their help with the cooking. Steve got stuck with taking apart the cabbage, but he didn’t mind watching Sasha cut vegetables with almost terrifying efficiency. It wasn’t a great surprise that he knew how to handle a knife._ _

__Soon Steve’s apartment was filled with the smell of cooking beef and onions, Sasha helping Natasha stuff the cabbage and Steve making sure they were cooking properly. Sasha got himself kicked out of the kitchen when he thought it was funny to stick his metal hand into the pot to poke them and see if they were done, prompting Natasha to hit him with a dish towel and banish him to the livingroom._ _

__After what felt like an eternity of cabbage supervision Steve was practically bouncing in place as Natasha loaded up two plates for them._ _

__Sasha looked thrilled, curling up on the couch with his plate on his lap and looking up at Steve with a surprising amount of softness in his eyes. Steve plopped down next to him, making sure there was still enough room for Natasha on his other side. “Don’t eat them too fast. This isn’t going to be as easy on your stomach.” Sasha snorted, but did as he wa told, making a small happy sound as he took a bite._ _

__Natasha was busy adding hotsauce to her plate, but didn’t miss Sasha’s happy noise. “I take that as a compliment.”_ _

__Sasha paused with his next bite halfway to his mouth. “I wouldn’t know if you’re that great. I haven’t had a home-cooked meal since The Depression.”_ _

__Steve snorted, shoving another bite of food into his mouth as Natasha stared at him._ _

__“So you’re practically a fossil.”_ _

__Steve nearly choked on his food whipping his head around to glare at her. “Nat-!”_ _

__But Sasha just huffed out a laugh, a smile touching his lips. “Pretty much.”_ _

__Natasha behaved herself for the most part after Steve threatened her with a sharp look, turning her focus to telling Sasha instead about her job as an insurance adjuster. Steve found himself relaxing into a food-stupor, lulled by the soft murmur of Natasha talking about her life. Sasha seemed as relaxed as Steve had ever seen him. Sasha really was starting to look better, more healthy and less hollowed out, but Steve was still worried that any little thing could set him back miles in his recovery._ _

__“But don’t let me bore you with any more stories. Honestly, if you’ve dealt with one crazy insurance scam, you’ve seen them all.” She kept her legs crossed in front of her. “So you’re going to see Sam this week?” Natasha snapped Steve out of his half-asleep haze, and he brushed his hair out of his eyes with a small grumble. “Am I?”_ _

__Natasha grinned, nudging him. “Sam told me you were.”_ _

__Steve sat up straight, pulling himself up to go and snatch his phone off his nightstand. Crap, he did have several unread texts from Sam. Apparently he and Natasha had been planning behind his back._ _

__“He says to bring Sasha too.” Nat’s smile was far too sharp to be reassuring, and Steve got the feeling that he wasn’t being given a choice._ _

__Steve shoved his phone in his back pocket, grumbling to himself as he gathered up their dishes. “I don’t need to drag Sasha out two days in a row.”_ _

__Sasha reached out and gently touched Steve’s arm. “I don’t mind.” He absently tucked his hair behind his ear. “You need to work on your art anyway.”_ _

__Steve stared hard at him. “I see you’ve both decided what I should do.” Sasha just did his lopsided shrug, and Natasha’s grin had grown 10 sizes._ _

__Steve did _not_ pout as he gathered up the rest of the dishes, and definitely did not mutter to himself as both Nat and Sasha helped him shove leftovers into containers and wash all the dishes. He did text Sam back and include several frowny faces, but didn’t manage to change Sam’s mind about bringing Sasha to see the gym. Once Natasha left, breezing out after refusing to take any of the leftovers that now filled Steve’s fridge as well as promising to get together again soon to teach Sasha how to do his hair, Steve let himself heave a deep sigh. _ _

__“I’m sure it’ll be fine if we have to re-schedule. Sam won’t really be mad…”_ _

__Sasha paused from where he was already digging into some of the leftovers. Steve was always baffled by how much Sasha could eat, now that his appetite had apparently returned. “I don’t mind going.” He licked his lips again. “I don’t mean to be a constant distraction-”_ _

__“Stop right there.” Steve held his hands up when Sasha tensed. Okay, poor word choice. “I just meant… I’m not putting off work just because you’re here, but I don’t want you to go stir-crazy trapped inside.”_ _

__Sasha continued to shove cabbage in his mouth, cradling the bowl in his elbow. “I’m already crazy. What’s sitting in your appartment going to do?” He paused like Steve was supposed to laugh, but quickly moved on when all he got was a stern look. “I appreciate that you’re doing so much for me, really.” He averted his gaze, shifting his weight from side to side._ _

__Steve reached over to snag a piece of cabbage off his plate. “Don’t mention it.” He grabbed the remote off the coffee table, switching to the Food Channel. Sasha had been watching a lot of it lately._ _

__Steve spent the rest of the night sketching at Sasha’s insistence, trying to formulate what to do for his next deadline. Maria would really have his head if he came to her with no work and no answers, but it still felt wrong, making up stories for someone who was real. Well, not real in his world, but Captain America had been real in Sasha’s world, and what the hell was he supposed to do with that information? Sasha had curled up with Steve’s laptop and his bowl of leftover cabbage, and Steve couldn’t help but smile when he realized he was watching hair tutorials. For a 100 year old assassin, Sasha could be pretty cute._ _


	5. Chapter 5

Steve felt better about the whole Sam situation when he woke up. Sasha was likely going stir-crazy in his apartment, and he realized he was as well. Steve was a home-body through and through, but even he had limits to seeing the same four walls day in and day out. Sasha even seemed to be having a good day, though he was visibly anxious at going into the city proper. Steve was still nervous about taking Sasha anywhere. There was no telling what would trigger him or make him dissociate, and Steve was still painfully aware of the fact that he had no idea how to help him if something happened when they were out. He'd spent hours researching signs and symptoms and ways to help Sasha as much as possible, but there was only so much he could do without being a professional. Hell, even a professional would probably be stumped by Sasha.

“We’ll take a cab.” Steve insisted as he tugged on his jacket. The thought of subjecting Sasha to a crowded subway or even the bus wasn’t even worth thinking about. Sasha insisted that it was fine, but Steve saw the tension in his shoulders even as they stood at the corner while Steve waited for the taxi to come. Taxi’s were expensive, but it was more than worth it not to send Sasha into a panic attack. Keeping up a running commentary was as easy as last time they were out. Living in the city for so long had left Steve with more knowledge than anyone really needed to know about the buildings around him. Sasha just looked on silently, his hands folded neatly in his lap, Bucky’s gloves back in place, and a baseball cap keeping his hair out of his face. 

“I bet you’ll love Sam’s gym, I'm no good for exercising, obviously, but even I know it’s cool.” Steve dug his wallet out of his pocket when they reached their stop, likely over-tipping the driver, but not really caring. He started them down the sidewalk, practically having to jog to keep up with Sasha’s long strides, but like hell he was going to ask him to slow down. Sam’s gym was just around the corner anyway. 

Sasha was fidgeting, and kept looking around, trying to track every person that walked past them. Steve stepped closer to him; boy was he warm. He practically radiated heat, even without Steve touching him.

“You okay?” Steve looked up at him. He didn’t want to pry, but he needed to know if it was too much. 

“I’m fine, punk.” Sasha’s voice was tight, but he was trying. “How did you meet Sam?”

Steve flushed. "I volunteered at the VA after..." he brushed his hair out of his eyes, not able to force the words past his throat for a moment. "After Bucky. I wanted to help people who were struggling with coming back. I’ve known Sam about 3 years. He was a para-rescue, but decided that it was just too much for him and he came back. Opened up the gym to help train other army guys actually, but it's open to everybody." Steve flushed. "Sam's a nice guy, and he’s just about seen it all.”

Sasha kept his eyes trained on the street in front of them. “Well he’s about to have seen it all, that’s for sure.” 

Sasha held the door open for Steve when they reached the gym, _Peregrine Parkour_ , and Steve definitely did not feel his heart flutter, it was the arrhythmia. Did Sasha have to be so nice? A highly-trained assassin wasn't the guy you'd think would hold doors and smile softly down at you. Steve pushed the thoughts aside for what felt like the thousandth time. He was better than this. He would not let this become a problem. 

Sasha trailed after him as he stepped into the huge main space. Sam's gym was first a foremost a parkour gym. There was a boxing ring and some traditional gym equipment off to one side, but Sam had spent months getting the permits and organization for the cavernous gym space. Steve squinted, trying to spot his friend even with his shit vision. 

Sam jogged up to them, a wide grin on his face. “Hey man, you made it!” He paused when he caught sight of Sasha, looking him up and down. Steve tensed, watching Sasha and Sam size each other up. 

“You know, Natasha told me, but I still feel unprepared.” He looked down at Steve for a moment. “Shit’s weird.” Steve gave him a tiny nod and Sam turned to Sasha again, holding out his hand. 

“Sam Wilson. Nice to meet you.”

[](http://imgur.com/hsuG6O6)

Sasha stared at him for a moment before he took his hand to shake. “Sasha. Steve talks highly of you.” 

Sam snorted, dropping his hand. “Steve doesn’t talk of you at all, he’s been hiding.” 

“I’m right here.” Steve grumbled. “I don’t need this from you.”

Sam wrapped his arm around Steve’s skinny shoulders, throwing out his other arm to gesture to the huge space before them. “Well, let me give you the grand tour.”

Steve zoned out a bit as Sam walked them through the gym, pointing out all the different aspects, from the boxing ring to his custom hyper-customizable parkour setup. Steve had heard enough about the system to be able to recite most of the information about it from memory, not that it was boring, and he loved how much it excited his friend. Sasha seemed interested too, his posture relaxing slowly the more Sam talked, looking around with interest at the complex systems. 

“If you want to come by in the mornings or something, I’d be more than willing to let you.” Sam said earnestly. He’d removed his arm from around Steve, and was showing Sasha the pulley system he’d set into the floor to move the short walls. “Sometimes doing something physical is the best way to get you out of your own head, y’know?”

Sasha nodded. He’d been quiet but laser-focused on Sam’s instructions, and Steve had to admit that it was soothing to see him more relaxed in his own skin. Sam chatted amiably with him, even though Sasha tended to give one-word answers, and seemed to be keeping close tabs on the other people in the gym. 

“I like your new sign.” Steve piped up once Sasha had immersed himself in gym equipment, “Though I think you should have used my name suggestions.”

Sam gave him a look. “Shredded Chicken was not a name suggestion, you ass.”

Steve snorted loudly enough for Sasha to look up from piling weights onto a bar. “Oh c’mon, it was funny.”

“Cock and Bells was no better either. What are you, 12?” Sam crossed his arms over his chest. 

Steve threw his hands up. “You said you wanted a bird pun! I supplied!”

Sam opened his mouth to argue again but Steve’s stomach cut them both off with a monsterous growl. 

Steve felt his ears burn and he scratched at the back of his neck. “Sorry. I didn’t realize I was so hungry.” He had no idea how long they’d been there, but his stomach was growling up a storm. 

Sam just smiled. “I didn’t mean to keep you guys so long anyway. He turned to Sasha again. “Think about what I said. The shop will be open for you if you decide it’s something you’re interested in.”

Sasha nodded stiffly, holding his hand out to shake once more. Steve felt his heart flutter again. He felt a little like a proud parent. Seeing Sasha improving was so validating. He turned away to take a breath. It was not time to get sentimental. His stomach betrayed him by growling again. 

“Was good to see ya Steve. You know you’re more than welcome too.” Sam clapped him on the shoulder, his sunny smile back in place. 

“As soon as I get my new set of lungs, I’ll be here.” Steve grinned up at him. 

Sasha fell into step with him as they emerged back onto the street. “If I’m not allowed to make dark jokes, you’re not either.” 

Steve looked up at him. “My jokes aren't-” Sasha gave him another look, “Alright, deal. I won’t make any more jokes about my shit health, if you don’t make jokes about being brainwashed.”

Sasha kept his eyes trained forward, but Steve saw the corner of his mouth curl up. “I make no such promises.” 

The cab ride home was significantly more relaxed than the way there, Sasha stretching out his flesh arm over the back of the seat. 

Steve heaved a sigh of relief once they got home. Maybe he was the one that needed to get out more. Shaking the worries off Steve turned to his desk. Sasha had held up his end of the deal, they’d made it to Sam’s and back without incident. There was no way he was going to get out of working on his comic now. 

“What would you like to eat?” Sasha murmured; he had already stripped out of his street clothes and returned to his standard sweatpants before Steve had even noticed, and now he was meticulously pulling his hair back from his face with a bright pink hair-tie. 

Steve shrugged, trying not to imagine how soft Sasha’s hair must be. “I’m good with whatever. I always end up eating cereal.”

Sasha snorted, padding toward the kitchen. “I’m not letting you get out of working, so I’ll make something.” 

Steve had shown Sasha how to work his bluetooth speaker earlier that week, and now Sasha was fiddling with his computer, wandering into the kitchen once soft jazz began to fill the room. 

Steve was resolute about sitting at his desk and working, and it did not have anything to do with the fact that Sasha repeatedly kicked him out of the kitchen every time he went to see what he was up to. He could do this; he could finish his pages before Maria personally kicked his ass. After about a million balls of paper had gathered around Steve’s tiny trashcan by his desk he tried not to pull out his hair in frustration. He was a professional, he could do this. 

In the end Steve finished three pages before Sasha came to get him, knowing that they weren’t his best work, but at least they were something. Maybe he would make more progress if he focused on writing dialogue after he ate. Somehow Sasha had pulled a full meal out of Steve’s rather barren kitchen. 

“When did you learn to cook?” Steve looked up at him, nibbling at his bowl of pasta and marveling at how good it was. “You haven’t cooked since Roosevelt was president, at least.”

Sasha threatened him with his fork. “See if I ever cook for you again. The internet is chocked full of cooking shit. Don’t question me.”

“When did you have time-” Steve sighed, “I thought you said you were sleeping better.”

Sasha’s shoulder wiggled in his odd shrug, “Better and well are different. How’s the comic coming?” 

Steve grumbled, knowing that Sasha was deflecting. “It’s shit. I feel like a jackass writing about Cap knowing he was a real person.” He hadn’t meant to be so blunt, but he had a hard time not being painfully honest. 

Sasha’s fork had paused halfway to his mouth. “That’s what’s bothering you?”

Steve buried himself in his food, chewing sullenly. 

“Steve. It’s make-believe. Just because I knew a man called Captain America at some point more than half a decade ago shouldn’t make you feel guilty.” Sasha set his bowl carefully on the coffee table.

“I’m just frustrated.” Steve muttered, “Feel like I have more important things I can be focusing on than my dumb comic.” He didn’t need to look up to know Sasha’s expression had turned into a hard frown. “It makes light of everything that happened to you. Maybe I should just scrap my Winter Soldier storyline and-”

“No!” Sasha’s voice came out louder than Steve expected and they both jumped. After another beat and a breath Sasha tried again. “He’s important to you. You said yourself that he’s based on your Bucky.”

Steve winced at the mention, his gaze still stuck on his bowl of noodles. Sasha was right, but honestly, he’d been grieving over Bucky for so long that he wasn’t sure what to do with the feeling of moving on. He didn’t _want_ to move on; he was still angry that he’d lost Bucky in the first place, and Sasha was making it so much more complicated. It seemed like half the time he didn’t know what Sasha was going to do, and the rest of the time he was so painfully much like Bucky that it left Steve feeling off-kilter. He sighed, nibbling at his food again. “I’ll try to get some done tomorrow. What're you going to do?” 

Sasha shrugged. “Sam seemed interested in having me come back to his gym.” He looked nervous even suggesting it, but Steve had a feeling he would make himself go just because he was afraid. 

Sinking further into the couch Steve went back to eating, only now realizing that they were sitting in front of a TV that wasn’t even on. He almost never used his TV anyway, but he knew Sasha liked to have some background noise, even if it was usually infomercials. They’d fallen into a strange sort of calm, and Steve wasn’t sure what to make of it. Was this really his life now? 

Steve felt like he spent a lot of time wrapped up in his head. He was always guilty of over-thinking things, but it seemed to have gotten particularly bad since Sasha had dropped into his life. Not that he would ever complain; Sasha had brought a lot of good things into his life, and taking him out of the depressive stupor that he’d fallen into since Bucky died was only one of them. It was easy to think of Sasha as someone completely foreign to him, but when he sat and looked so soft and smiled at Steve just the way that Bucky had it made his heart twist up. He didn’t want to use Sasha as a way to get Bucky back, but he was Bucky, wasn’t he? They were different, there was no two ways about that, but they were really similar at the same time, beyond just looking alike. If Steve was being honest with himself he’d never be able to separate Sasha from his memories of Bucky, and maybe that wasn’t the worst thing to happen. There was a reason he fell in love with Bucky in the first place, right? Sasha wasn’t so different that he didn’t find himself thinking the same way. Was he being selfish to think that Sasha could think of him that way? Honestly he wasn’t sure if he was just projecting, but it didn’t feel like he was. He understood that Sasha wasn’t his Bucky, but he was _a _Bucky, and he liked all the things that were different about them too…__

__The circular thinking was making his head hurt, so Steve chose to instead focus on his noodles. The point was moot if Sasha didn’t feel the same way, and like Hell he was ever going to say anything about it._ _

__“You’re staring, Steve.” Sasha’s voice broke Steve out of his thoughts and he couldn’t help but sputter._ _

__“You have sauce on your face.” Steve sputtered out; it was a lie, but maybe he just wanted to touch Sasha’s cheek, okay?_ _

__Sasha stuck his chin out, waiting for Steve to brush it off and Steve felt his heart swell at the simple act of trust. Touch had been something that Sasha had to learn to accept again, and Steve wanted to show him only gentle touches for as long as Sasha would let him._ _

___You’re a real sap Rogers._ Steve mentally berated himself, even as he brushed his thumb along Sasha’s jaw and over the swell of his bottom lip. The urge to push his thumb into the dimple in Sasha’s chin was nearly unbearable. God Sasha was pretty, and smart, and sweet, and Steve was so screwed, and totally falling for him._ _


	6. Chapter 6

Sasha didn’t sleep. He told Steve that he did, but he was never very successful. He even tried laying there with his eyes closed, but he always ended up back on the couch, curled up in a blanket with the TV turned down so that it wouldn’t wake Steve. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the bed that Steve had bought him, it was perfect. He wasn’t sure what was wrong with him, if it was the memories of his life trying to resurface, or the repressed horror of all the things he’d done, but he just couldn’t get rest. Sam had suggested he come back to the gym, but the thought of other people seeing him there made him feel a little sick. No one wanted to see him. He was a mess of grade A proportions.

Steve had left his phone on the coffee table and Sasha found himself picking it up. The touch screen wouldn’t work with his metal hand so he cradled it in his left while he tried to figure out how to send a message to Sam. He’d seen Steve texting enough times to be able to figure it out. Computers he understood, had been taught how to hack machines when the mission called for it, but he was honestly more concerned he was going to smash this tiny thing to pieces than send a successful message. Once he had the message box pulled up he stared blankly at the little flashing cursor for a few moments. What did he even say? He’d barely said a dozen words to Sam yesterday.

 

  
      _[Serge]_  
 _Can I come to gym todat? Steve’s phone, this is Sasha_  
 _[6:12 AM]_

  
Sasha nervously flicked through the TV channels as he waited for Sam’s response. It was really early, he might not even be up yet. He jumped when Steve's phone buzzed in his lap, turning it over and checking what Sam said. Damn, he hadn't caught his spelling.

 

  
_[Sam]_  
 _Hey, you're up early. Sure, you're more than welcome. I’ll leave the front door open, just come on in._  
 _[6:32 AM]_

  
Sasha pulled himself up, setting Steve's phone back on the coffee table. Snatching one of the postit notes off the pad on the fridge he grabbed one of Steve’s pencils off his desk and scribbled a note for where he was going. After wrangling his hair out of his face he shrugged on a jacket, tugging it down over his arm and pulling on the motorcycle gloves that Steve had given him. It would be hot being so covered up, but it was better than having people stare.

Swallowing the anxiety that had built up in his chest Sasha steeled himself for a moment before sticking the postit note to the door and stepping out into the weak morning sun. Hopefully Steve wouldn't mind him borrowing some money. He felt guilty being such a drain on Steve’s life, but he wasn't sure what else to do.

The cab ride felt a thousand times longer than when he’d taken it with Steve. He didn’t know what he was doing. God, when was the last time that he was actually let out on his own? There had been that time in the 70’s when they’d sent him out without a handler. He’d ended up in Brooklyn and they’d spent days recalibrating him. Just the memory was enough to leave him shivering with imaginary electrical tremors. He felt like he was going to crawl out of his skin if he had to sit in this cab one more-

“Sir? We’re here.” The cabbie was looking at him nervously, like he was waiting for Sasha to lose it entirely.

Taking a deep breath to try and steady himself Sasha dug one of the bills out of his pocket, handing it to the man without question. “Keep the change…” He scrambled out of the cab, hunching his shoulders and trying to get himself under control. Once he felt less like his heart was going to beat out of his chest he made a beeline for Sam’s gym.He knocked gently on the big glass doors before pulling them open. They were unlocked just like Sam had promised. Most of the lights were still off, but there was plenty enough to see. Sasha caught sight of Sam organizing barbells to the far side of the room. He coughed gently to try and make his presence known. He couldn’t seem to make himself walk loudly. He was always startling Steve when he entered a room.

“Hey! You made it!” Sam straightened, wiping his hands on his shorts and crossing the room, “I planned to open an hour late anyway, so feel free to do whatever strikes your fancy.”

Sasha nodded, pulling his hoodie over his head and tightening his ponytail where it had started to slip. Sam was trying to be subtle about looking at him, and he resisted the urge to curl his left arm into his body. He just had to get used to people looking. They weren’t after him, they were just curious.

“If you want help setting up the parkour course or anything, just let me know.” Sam had turned his attention back to his organizing, dutifully ignoring Sasha as he wandered over to the mats built into the floor and started to stretch.

It was easy to let himself fall into a rhythm, the buzz of his brain quieting for once as rolled his shoulders and went to grab a punching bag from the meticulously organized store-room. He debated wrapping up his knuckles before he cautiously approached Sam and managed to murmur out a request for some wrap. He only ended up wrapping his flesh hand, deciding against the left. It wasn’t like he could really break his metal hand anyway, hadn’t found anything capable of denting the metal at least. Rolling his shoulders again Sasha took a deep breath to center himself before he started to work on the bag.

_  
_

 

_“Keep your shoulders down Stevie.”_

_“I know, you told me-”_

_“Then listen and do it, punk.”_

 

Sasha jerked, his hands dropping to his sides as his head swam. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to remember, but sometimes… He shook himself, running his hands over his face. Even the good memories weren’t really good. Everything seemed to be colored by pain and suffering, either by the hands of HYDRA, or the war, or even struggling through the damn Depression. He wanted to say that he remembered his Steve, but it was hit or miss, the few memories he’d managed to regain were being colored by his time spent here, and it was getting hard to distinguish between the tiny punk he’d known in the 30’s and the little spitfire he lived with now. Leaning his forehead against the smooth canvas of the punching bag he tried to catch his breath.

“I don’t know what you’ve been through, but man, whatever I can do to help, just let me know.” Sam said from behind him.

Sasha jumped, his hand shooting to his waist where he always kept his knives. Shit. After recovering as quickly as possible he tried to relax his posture. “Thank you…” Sasha murmured. “I don’t want to be a burden.” Hunching his shoulders again, he tried to hide in his hair before remembering it was up. He hated feeling so anxious and useless; he wanted to be better, help Steve instead of just taking up all of his time. “I’m sorry…”

Sam sighed. “I’ve seen a lot of guys with a lot of issues in here, that’s part of the reason that I opened this place, so don’t feel like you’re being a burden.” Sam ran his hands over his buzzed hair, scratching at his cheek where he’d missed a spot shaving. “Don’t apologize. You don’t have to be sorry for the shit that happened to you. Just don’t let it build up, okay?” Sam turned away, gesturing for Sasha to follow him as he crossed the room.

“I don’t want to be pushing this on you, but I think you’ll like it.” He knelt down, pulling a panel free of the floor and turning a few knobs on the control panel and Sasha watched as the padded walls of the parkour course moved with the clinking of pulleys.

“Holy cow.” Sasha looked up at the complex system as Sam set it.

Sam was grinning as he set the panel back in the floor. “Alright, the start is on this end.”

Sasha trailed after him, stopping when Sam reached the ladder that lead to the top plateau.

“Just get to the other end. I set it a little more difficult than I usually would, hopefully it’s not too much for you.”

Sasha crossed his arms over his chest. “It won’t be.”

“Prove me wrong.” Sam’s grin widened and he stepped back, watching Sasha scramble up the ladder.

Sasha stood for a long moment at the top of the course, his gaze taking in everything and clinically planning the best route.

Rolling his shoulders once more he backed up a bit and launched himself toward the first platform, catching himself with his arms and redistributing his weight seamlessly to skip over the top of another wall.

Arching his back as he snapped his legs up he flipped up onto the edge of another wall, using it to add to his momentum as he made a grab for the pole stuck into the wall, swinging in a perfect arch to heave himself up even higher.

Dropping down he rolled onto a plateau, a feral grin on his lips as he realized he was already nearing the end of the course. Sam had said this was supposed to be hard.

He couldn't resist the urge to show off a little, mostly using his arms to propel himself over and around the obstacles.

Managing two full rotations on his flip to the last platform, he landed with his feet planted, arms loose at his sides like a gymnast sticking a finish. He was barely breathing hard.

Sam was obviously trying not to look impressed, his hands on his hips.

“The showmanship is wasted on me.”

Sasha snorted, tucking a chunk of hair that had worked its way free from his ponytail. “You said to prove I could do it.”

Sam was grumbling to himself as he walked over. “I think the metal arm is cheating.”

Sasha crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against one of the padded walls. “I can do it one-handed if you'd like.”

“No no, not necessary.” Sam threw up his hands.

Sasha helped him reset the course, feeling equal parts proud of himself and a little snug. Sam had been right, the physical exertion had calmed down the buzzing in his brain, and he almost felt relaxed.

Sam’s phone chirped a strange noise and he dug it out of his pocket.

“Oh, the great mother hen is looking for you. He says he has breakfast when you get back.”

Sasha couldn't help but smile, a fluttery feeling invading his chest when he thought about Steve.

“Hey, none of that now.” Sam was giving him a harsh look, pointing a finger at Sasha’s chest. “He doesn't need any of that.”

“I didn't do anything.” Sasha crossed his arms again, resisting the urge to bat Sam’s accruing hand away like a child.

“I saw that look. You're not allowed to fall for him.”

Sasha huffed, feeling a bit impetuous under Sam’s accusatory gaze. Was he wrong though? Was he falling for Steve? Would he even know if he was?

Something must have shown on his face because Sam’s expression softened. “Listen man, it's not that I have anything against you. Beyond the whole cool little cyborg killer thing, you seen like a good guy. But Steve… he's still not over Bucky. Probably won't ever be over him, and you've got the same face, no two ways about it.”

Sasha sagged a little. “I know.” There was nothing else to say. If Steve couldn't move past his dead lover, it wasn't right for Sasha to edge in on his grief. “Thanks for letting me come by today.”

Sam reached over to squeeze Sasha’s shoulder. “No worries. You're welcome any time.”

Sasha left Sam's gym feeling significantly lighter than when he came. He was fairly sure he had enough money to buy Steve a coffee on his way back, soy milk, hazelnut, and for once his brain didn't feel like a bag of scrambled eggs. He pointedly refused to think about what Sam had said. It didn't matter if Steve wasn't over his Bucky, because Sasha certainly wasn't falling for him, right?

A murmur of hushed voices cut him out of his thoughts and he looked up to see a group of teenagers huddled together conspiring. It wasn't until he got closer than he heard they were muttering in Russian.

One of the boys was grumbling to the others, his shirt un-tucked as he fanned his face with his hand. _“It shouldn’t be a **furnace** at **nine** in the morning.” _

Sasha jerked like he'd been electrocuted, the words rattling around in his brain as he tried to get himself under control again. The boys had noticed him and they were staring like he was a freakshow as he shook in place. Fuck, he had to get it together. The memories that had quieted after his time spent with Sam had returned with redoubled force and he sank to his knees, Steve’s coffee running out over the sidewalk as he dug his metal fingers into the concrete. God, it felt like his head was going to split-

“Sasha! Oh god Sasha, are you alright?” Soft hands were fluttering over his shoulders, urging his face up from where he'd curled into himself. He looked up, the face in front of him swimming for a moment before it settled into Steve.

“Steve…”

“Yeah, hey…” Steve knelt down in front of him, his hands still fluttering from his face to his shoulders to his arms. “What happened?”

Sasha shuddered, leaning heavily against Steve as he tried to reorient himself. “Triggered… I'm alright…” he wasn't sure if that was true, but he did manage to pull his hand out of the sidewalk. “I spilled your coffee…”

“Oh, don't worry, it's alright.” Steve was still touching him, making soft noises.“I saw you from my apartment. Let's get you inside, okay?”

Sasha nodded weakly, letting Steve haul him to his feet and leaning against him as they made their way down the street to Steve’s building.

Steve was quiet once they reached his apartment, silently closing the door and letting Sasha lean against it to catch his breath.

“I’m going to...shower…” Sasha wasn’t sure what to do, but his clothes were making his skin crawl and his hair was sticking to his forehead.

Steve nodded, kicking off his shoes. “I have some breakfast for you once you’re done.”

Making a beeline for the bathroom Sasha was already pulling his shirt off over his head, hucking it expertly toward the bin as he turned the water up on max heat and stripped everything else off. His skin was still crawling but he heaved a sigh of relief as the hot water hit his skin.

He stood under the water for a long time before he could relax, twisting to wash out his hair next. Steve had gone and got him some nice shampoo at Natasha’s recommendation, and Sasha had to admit that he loved it. He hated feeling useless, but Steve taking care of him made something flutter in his chest.

The water was getting cold by the time that he felt like a normal person again. His skin had stopped crawling and he felt warm. Scrubbing at his hair with the towel he wrapped it around his waist to be able to get to his room and put on some new clothes. Steve had mentioned going out to get him some more clothes, but the thought of going out again made Sasha’s blood run cold. Maybe tomorrow.

Steve gave him an odd look when he crossed the room, and Sasha felt a flush crawl up his neck. He wasn’t sure what that look was for, but it made him feel warm all over even after he closed the door behind him and dug into his closet for some clothes. Once he’d wriggled his way into some sweats and scrubbed the majority of the water out of his hair he steeled himself to go back out into the livingroom.

Steve was curled up at his desk writing notes on his sketches from last night. He looked up when Sasha plodded toward the kitchen.

“I hope it’s not cold.” Steve piped up, uncurling from his desk chair. “I didn’t know how long you’d be.”

Sasha just grunted, feeling the oddest sensation of wanting to hide from Steve’s gaze as he pulled his plate out of the microwave, snagging a fork from the drying rack and digging into the potatoes and eggs.

He was happy that he’d managed to get back to eating real food, and he’d spent most of his time not sleeping watching cooking shows. There hadn’t been much time for him to learn how to cook before, but now he wanted to lean. The feeling of making something that someone else could enjoy was surprisingly fulfilling. Plus, Steve kind of sucked at cooking.

Steve was still looking at him curiously, and Sasha just stared right back. “Do I have something on my face?”

Steve flushed, his hand coming back to scratch at the back of his neck. “Sorry. Just...thinking.”

Sasha snorted. “Don’t think too hard, you’ll hurt yourself.” He shoved another bite of potatoes into his mouth.

“Shut up, jerk.” Steve slid off his chair, going to sit next to Sasha on the couch. “It was good for you to go out today, I just worry.”

Sasha leaned against him. “You worry too much. It’s not your fault my brain is a mess. Can barely take care of myself. I’d be lost without you.”

Steve was staring at him again, his eyes round. “Sasha…”

Sasha blundered on, setting his plate on the coffee table now that it was empty. “I feel like a burden to you, but I really want to get better, y’know? You’ve done a lot and…” He stumbled to a stop, dropping his gaze to his lap. “I’m just selfish.”

Steve frowned. “You haven’t been selfish at all.”

Sasha shrugged. “Sam told me not to get too attached, and he’s right. It’s not fair to you.”

Steve punched him in the arm, his expression screwed up in genuine anger. Sasha stared at him, concerned that he was going to hit him again.

“Why don’t you let me decide what’s best for me huh?”

Sasha ran his fingers through his hair, not sure what to say. “You don’t get it…” Honestly Sasha didn’t get it either. Could he even fall for Steve? He could barely distinguish between his own emotions half the time, did he have any right to say what he felt was love? “Don’t worry about it, okay?”

Steve sighed, looking like he wanted to argue further but deciding against it. “I have to go and meet Maria. If I blow her off again I wouldn’t be surprised if she fired me.” He snorted, “I couldn’t blame her either. I’ve been pushing it back for way too long.”

Sasha gathered up his plate, pulling himself up with a small sigh. “Don’t let me keep you. I’ll be fine.”

Steve still seemed sullen, but didn’t argue the point, going to gather his sketches up from his desk. Sasha watched him from the kitchen, viciously scrubbing the eggs that clung to his plate as Steve finished gathering up his things. He’d managed to make awkward between them, and he wished desperately he could take his words back. Why did he have to be such an idiot? He knew that Steve wasn’t going to think of him that way, and he was just setting himself up for more pain if he let himself go down that road.

“See ya later.” Steve gave him a small wave, hoisting his bag onto his shoulder before pulling the door closed behind him.

Sasha sagged against the counter. He needed to get it together, or it would ruin his relationship with Steve irreparably. From his spot in the kitchen he met the gaze of Steve’s framed photo of Bucky across the room.

“What would you do, huh?” He sighed again. “You wouldn’t have this problem, he loved you.” Sasha ran his fingers through his hair absently. “I don’t deserve him anyway.”

He jumped when he heard a bing across the room. Oh, Steve had left his phone. Snatching it up and turning it over he saw that it was a message from Natasha.

 

 

_[Nat]_  
Sam told me Sasha came by this morning, good for him. :) How’s the comic?  
[10:14 AM]

 

Sasha stared at the message for a long moment. He wasn’t sure he should infringe on Steve’s privacy again by using his phone, but he’d felt so comfortable the last time that Natasha was here. Maybe she’d have some advice for him? He vaguely remembered a tiny redhead from his world, and he had trusted her then, why not trust this version of her as well?

 

 

_[Regrets Ovens]_  
Steve left his phone at home, went to meet about comic. This is Sasha.  
[10:18 AM]

 

_[Nat]_  
Steve driving you nuts yet? When can we get together for hair stuff????  
[10:20 AM]

 

Sasha grinned, brushing his hair back absently. He slowly typed out a reply, balancing the phone carefully in his metal hand.

 

 

_[Regrets Ovens]_  
Steve is fine. When are you free?  
[10:22 AM]

 

Natasha’s reply was instant and Sasha’s smile widened.

 

 

_[Nat]_  
Give me an hour. I’ll bring pastries.  
[10:22 AM]

 

Sasha puttered around, trying not to let himself dwell on the self-doubt that had festered in his chest as he nervously dried dishes and organized the livingroom. He practically launched himself at the door when the knock finally came, pulling it open and giving Natasha what he hoped was a pleasant smile. Sometimes he couldn’t control exactly what his face was doing, but he was trying to school himself out of the vacantly murderous expression he tended to default to.

“Wow, you’re high-strung today. I brought carbs.” She offered the box to him and toed off her shoes before flopping down on the couch.

Sasha trailed after her, fidgeting as he waited for her to tell him what he should do.

Natasha looked up at him, leaning back and putting her feet up on the coffee table. “What’s on your mind?”

“Am I that obvious?” Sasha perched next to her, trying to contain his fidgeting. He was being stupid. Since when had he started fidgeting anyway?

“Yes. Go get the brush Steve got you. I’ll brush out your hair and you can tell me what’s bothering you.” Nat pulled open the box of pastries, pulling out one that looked like it was filled with lemon and taking a large bite.

Sasha obediently went to grab the brush from the bathroom, cautiously curling up at Natasha’s feet when she put them down off the coffee table. He wasn’t sure what she expected him to say, so he just sat there quietly, mentally berating himself for feeling so tense. The slight rasp of the brush through his hair put him almost immediately into a lull of calm. He couldn’t remember ever having his hair brushed like this, not that it was much of a surprise, but that wasn’t the point.

“So, what happened today? Sam said you stopped by.” Natasha kept up her smooth brushing.

Sasha resisted the urge to nod, just relaxing further. “Yeah. He was mad I kicked the shit out of his parkour course.” He leaned back against her legs, staring blankly at the dark TV.

Natasha chuckled. “I’m sure I’ll hear about it more later. That course is his pride and joy.”

Sasha looked up at her. “You and Sam… you’re together?”

Natasha looked surprised, pausing in her brushing to blink down at him. “Yeah. We’ve been tentatively dating for a few months now.”

Sasha hummed, turning to face forward again. “Steve doesn't know.”

Natasha slowly started brushing again. “No. We didn't want to tell him too early in case it didn't work out. And then…”

“Then he was busy with me. Why not tell him now? He's going to be pretty mad.”

Natasha chuckled. “Yeah. He's probably going to rip us a new one. Honestly I don't think I'm ready for him to start hounding us about babies at every opportunity.”

“Babies?” Bucky mulled it over as Nat split his hair neatly into sections and started to braid it.

“Steve loves babies. It's surprising, I know, but he just melts when faced with any kind of baby. You should have seen him when I first got my cat. I was pretty sure he was going to steal her.”

The mental image of Steve buried in a pile of kittens brought a smile to Sasha's face. “He's still going to be upset that you didn't tell him, but I understand.”

Natasha deftly twisted one of his hair ties around the end of the neat braid she’d done, brushing a stray hair back behind Sasha's ear. “What's been eating you then? I shared, your turn.”

Sasha sighed, resting both hands on the table and picking at one of the plates of his thumb. “I'm falling for Steve.”

Nat stayed silent behind him, but he could hear her running her fingers through her hair.

“I know it's inappropriate, and I have no right, but…” He hunched his shoulders a little.

“I think you'll just have to talk to Steve about it. He's a big boy, he can take it.”

Sasha winced, his heart fluttering at just the idea of saying anything. “I don't…I can't always get the right words, and sometimes my face does weird things…”

Natasha brushed her fingers over his cheek, making him crane his head to look at her.

“He needs to move on with his life. You're not his Bucky, and he knows that. He doesn't think of you that way, but he obviously has a soft spot a mile wide for you.” She grinned. “He thinks he's all stoicism, but he's the worst liar I've ever met.”

Sasha gave her a small smile. “I care about him. I don't want to edge in on his grief, but if you think I should say something…”

Natasha nodded decisively. “Definitely say something. He's an idiot, so you'll have to be direct.”

Sasha snorted. “Won't have any problem with that.” Steve had made a full-time job of teasing him for his overt bluntness.

Natasha leaned back into the couch cushions again. “I'm not usually a big promoter of love as a general term, it makes people stupid and often hurts those involved. But sometimes it can be good.”

Sasha grinned up at her. “So you're a sap at heart.” She thunked him on the head with his hairbrush.

Both of them jumped when the front door slammed open, Sasha shooting to his feet and dropping into a defensive crouch.

Steve threw his bag down and stood in place and fumed for a long moment before he even noticed them. “She told me my fight scenes were shit! She actually said that to my face!” His hands were balled up in fists and he looked like he was just waiting to punch something.

Nat straightened up from her spot on the couch, patting Sasha on the shoulder as he slowly relaxed. “I hear work calling me. Good luck big guy.”

Steve blinked at her, opening his mouth to argue but shutting up when she crossed the room and kissed his cheek before grabbing her purse and her jacket from the hooks near the door.

“Have a good night boys. Text me.”

Sasha sank back onto the couch, a sigh on his lips as Steve continued to grumble quietly to himself.

“She didn't have to leave…” he mumbled. Sasha couldn't help but snort at his mulish tone.

“She was just humoring me.” Sasha put his hands behind his head, absently scratching at the back of his neck. He honestly never though he'd be so relaxed as he felt sitting on Steve’s couch. The thought of being able to ask for something, to want anything at all without pain as a rebuttal was still so new. “Why didn't Maria like your work?”

Steve plopped down next to him on the couch, elbows on his knees. “She said my fight scenes were lackluster. I don't really know what I'm doing wrong.”

Sasha wanted to lean against him, or put his arms around his skinny shoulders, or something, but he stayed where he was. He wanted to be able to handle casual contact, but he still felt like Steve might get angry at him for touching. Besides, Steve didn't need him to touch him, he was stained. Just the thought made him sit forward and wring his hands together once more.

Steve didn't question him, focusing on a knot in the wood of the coffee table instead. “I just… I feel like I lost the characters, and now I'm not sure what the hell I’m doing.”

Sasha made a soft noise of assent, not knowing exactly what Steve meant, but understanding his frustration.

Steve scrubbed his hands over his face with a sigh. “I’m going to take a shower. Take the edge off a little. You want some dinner?” He looked over at Sasha. “Oh, Natasha braided your hair.”

Sasha flushed, wanting to hide from Steve’s gaze. “Yeah…”

“It looks real good.” Steve slowly reached up to brush a stray lock of hair back behind Sasha’s ear before he pulled away looking sheepish. Sasha hadn’t seen Steve look sheepish except when he was around Natasha.

“I'm gonna go shower.” Steve repeated as he pulled himself up, making a beeline for the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

Sasha curled up on the couch, resisting the urge to pull out his braid. Steve had said it looked nice, and he wanted to look nice. He couldn’t help his lips curling into a smile at the sound of Steve humming out of tune as he turned on the shower.

It was easy to let his brain get too loud when he was alone, so Sasha focused on digging out ingredients for dinner. No way was he letting Steve cook if he could avoid it. Steve wasn’t a bad cook, but Sasha was really enjoying getting to practice and use his knife skills for something other than slicing throats.

His head popped up when he heard an entirely different noise from the bathroom, a flush crawling up his neck. Was Steve really…? Another soft moan confirmed his suspicions and he found himself fidgeting. Steve wouldn’t want him listening, he shouldn’t-

Twisting from where he’d been setting vegetables on the counter Sasha fumbled with Steve’s bluetooth speaker desperately. Fuck, fuck please. He’d never in his life been more regretful of his enhanced hearing. There was no way he was going to forget the sound of Steve’s soft moans if he listened.

Turning up the music louder than necessary Sasha tried to ignore the heat that rushed through him at the thought of Steve touching himself. Steve was an adult, he had needs, he was more than allowed to do whatever he wanted in his own house, but it didn’t stop the shivery feeling from invading Sasha’s gut.

“Why now?” He muttered to himself, shifting his weight from foot to foot and trying to distract himself by chopping veggies, though they were probably finer than needed.

Sasha couldn’t look at Steve when he came out of the bathroom scrubbing a towel through his hair until it stood up crazily in all directions. Instead he focused on the food, dumping the veggies into a pot. Soup? Soup was easy.

“This is a great song.” Sasha jumped when Steve popped up right behind him. “I have to say I have a soft spot for swing.”

Sasha turned to look at him. He hadn’t even realized that it had started on the swing station. “I know this song.” He swayed a bit in place as a rush of memories assaulted him.

Steve reached out to steady him. “It’s hard to come to grips with the fact that you’re really from the past.”

Sasha snorted. “Golly-gee Mr. Rogers, don’t you think I’m _swell_?”

Barking a laugh Steve had to lean over to wheeze a bit before he managed to pull himself together. “I don’t need this sass.’”

Sasha nudged him, turning to stir the vegetables. He was not going to be weird, Steve hadn’t done anything wrong, he was totally overreacting. “Hand me the chicken broth from the fridge, ace.”

Steve elbowed him in return, digging into the fridge.

The rest of the evening consisted of Sasha pointedly distracting himself from thinking about Steve. He needed to deal with his feelings. Maybe Sam was right and he should keep his mouth shut, or maybe Natasha was right and he should say something. Honestly he didn’t know what to do.

He ended up watching Steve sketch for a while, trying to be subtle about it a he flipped aimlessly through TV channels, his mind swimming. He wasn’t used to making decisions, wasn’t used to letting himself want anything. Just sitting there and fuming was enough to leave him jittery. No way was he going to get any sleep tonight.

“You okay Sasha?” Steve’s soft voice jerked Sasha out of his reverie and he couldn’t help but look guilty.

“Yeah, I’m good. Sorry.” He dug his fingers into his hair, finally letting himself untangle it from the braid; he’d have to have Natasha show him how to do it himself. “Just thinking.”

Steve grinned at him. “Don’t strain yourself.” Sasha threw a pillow at him.

It was still new to Sasha to feel relaxed, but the easy calm he felt with Steve was something he couldn’t remember ever feeling. At some point he’d probably felt at ease in his own skin, but he barely remembered. It seemed the most vivid memories were the most painful. He knew that Steve was hoping he’d remember more, but Sasha wasn’t too keen on the idea of his memories. He didn’t need his memories to build himself a life. He had memories here with Steve.

Curling up in bed after saying goodnight to Steve, Sasha just stared at the ceiling. His thoughts were still swirling at a dizzying speed. Screwing up his face and squishing his eyes closed didn’t shut up his brain. His back was aching, though it always seemed to ache from carrying around the monstrosity of an arm. God, he was such a mess, physically and mentally he was a landmine waiting to explode. He was dangerous and his brain barely worked most days. No way would Steve ever look at him that way.

The flush crawled up his neck again as he thought about earlier. He honestly hadn’t even considered that. He wasn’t some prude, or a child, he knew about it. Even vaguely remembered making it a common pastime before the war, but his brain just hadn’t considered it. Apparently he was considering it now, if the warmth that was making his legs twitch was anything to go by.

Sasha let out a pinched-out moan as his fingers brushed over the bulge in his sweats, his hips twitching as he quickly kicked everything off.

A flush of shame crawled across his chest when his hard cock flopped heavily onto his belly. He had not been allowed this before. Never was he given the time to languish in a soft bed and touch himself; would not have even dreamed of it. He felt a rush of affection for Steve, for allowing him all of this. No killing, no pain, only a soft bed and the ability to ask for things.

He gasped sharply as he curled his flesh fingers around himself, letting his metal hand rest on his thigh. The last thing he needed was to catch delicate skin between those plates. The drag of his still-calloused hand over himself made him twitch. Too dry, even though just this was making him feel overcome with sensation. Had he always been this sensitive?

Steve had been wet from the shower, maybe… Sasha looked around, trying to find something to ease the way. When nothing made itself immediately apparent he just spit into his hand, his eyes fluttering at the new sensation.

_“Fuck-”_ he hissed, giving his cock a squeeze. God, it made him feel like every nerve was singing; almost, but nowhere near, pain. A whimper left his throat when his brain helpfully supplied snippets of Steve. He could imagine tracing the path of some water that Steve had missed drying off, sucking on the jut of his hip or the curve of his neck.

His eyes had slipped closer and he reached up to tighten his metal hand around the headboard, trying to keep himself grounded as his hips jerked up to fuck into his fist.

“Oh fuck, _fuck-_ Sasha felt tears prick at the back of his eyes as he settled into his fantasy of Steve. God, he'd look so pretty splayed out on the bed, tiny pink nipples standing out from his chest as Sasha touched him.

“Uh, uh, St-Steve…Steve!” His orgasm took him by surprise, his muscles locking up as his back bowed hard enough for his spine to creak. He dimly heard the crunch of his metal hand sinking into the bed-frame, and felt the warm slick of his cum hitting his chest, but it was all peripheral to the angels singing in his brain. He definitely didn't hear the door open.

“Sasha, are you-shit!”

Sasha immediately curled in on himself, his eyes slow to focus on Steve standing in the doorway. He hissed when his fingers touched his still-hard cock. Was that normal?

“I’m sorry…” Sasha murmured, his shoulders curling inward. He should have known this wasn't allowed. Steve would probably go back on his promise and punish him now. He deserved it for lusting after him. The thought left him shaking. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry…please don't be angry…”

“Sasha, hey.” Steve reached for him, brushing his hair out of his face. “Hey, it's alright. You didn't do anything wrong.”

Sasha leaned into his hand, a soft sound leaving him. “The bed…”

Steve pressed a kiss to his forehead. “It's fine.”

A sound much more like a moan worked its way from Sasha's chest. His hard-on had returned full force after waning with the rush of anxiety, and it felt like Steve’s touch was burning him. God, he wanted to beg for more, but he knew that he wouldn’t. He could never beg.

“Jeeze Sash, you're really still hard?”

Sasha keened softly, unsure if it was a question he was really supposed to answer. “Y-you can touch it…” it was as close to begging as he could get. His fingers itched to reach up and touch Steve, but he wasn’t sure if that was allowed. Steve didn’t need Sasha to soil him with his touch.

Steve’s ears were red and he wouldn’t meet Sasha’s gaze. “You want me to touch you?”

Sasha shuddered, the muscles of his stomach jumping as Steve brushed his fingers over his jaw and down his neck.

“If you don’t tell me, I won’t touch you.” Steve’s voice was quiet but assertive, and true to his word he pulled his hands away. Sasha bit back a sob.

“Touch me...I want you to touch me.” The words left him in a rush, but then Steve was there, pushing him back to lay on the bed, nuzzling at his jaw.

“All you had to do was ask.” Steve grinned against his neck and Sasha couldn’t contain the helpless noise in his throat.


	7. Chapter 7

“I swear, I learn something new about you every day.” Steve was leaned against the doorframe of his room, having spent several moments watching Sasha dance in place to a jazzy song as he stirred together a frittata, his torso bare and his sweatpants sitting low on his hips. 

Sasha turned a wry smile on him, his bangs threatening to fall from their tenuous spot in his ponytail. “Yeah, me too.”

Steve huffed, crossing the room and situating himself in one of the bar stools. “That's not funny Sash.” 

“Well, seeing as I didn't even know my name when I got here, it's good that I'm learning things about myself.” Sasha shrugged, his left shoulder actually bobbing properly. He'd been spending his mornings at Sam’s gym, and Steve could tell, he was still unfairly muscular, but now no longer looked sickly thin, his cheeks and eyes less hollowed out. 

Steve kept looking at him, unable to tear his eyes away. There was such a striking difference between the skinny and scared man that had appeared suddenly in his house and the man that was currently dancing in place while he stuck the heavy cast-iron pan in the oven. Just the thought left him feeling warm and fuzzy. God, he really was a sap. 

As much as he’d wanted to tell himself that Sasha and Bucky were distinctly different, that they were completely separate people and it was unfair for him to think of Sasha as anything but his own person, there were plenty of things that were the same between them too. Sure, maybe his Bucky hadn’t been born almost 100 years ago, or lost an arm, or any of the things that Sasha had been through, but they both loved sweets, and they both had a deep hatred of running but did it anyway. It was more than those small things too, they had the same softness, and as much as Bucky had loved badgering Steve with his love of all things sci-fi, Sasha had started devouring everything he could get his hands on, and it made Steve’s chest swell with fondness to see him surrounded by piles of books and flipping through netflix documentaries. It seemed like every time Steve questioned himself Sasha was there to surprise him, making him smile and ribbing him for being an idiot. 

He’d managed to mostly reconcile the struggle with his comic characters. Being stubborn had served him well before, and even though Maria was pretty angry at him for holding back the production of the comic Steve was not going to compromise his work when he was out of it. He was planning to ask Sasha to help him write, and he hoped that it would get him out of his rut. 

“Hey Stevie, watch.” Sasha was grinning as he grabbed the cast iron pot right out of the oven with his metal hand. 

“Sasha you-” Steve jumped to stop him, instead grumbling when Sasha just dissolved into laughter, setting the pan on the stove and wiggling his clearly undamaged fingers at him. 

When they’d settled down to eat Sasha was focusing on balancing his plate on his knee, digging into his pile of frittata. It still surprised Steve just how much Sasha could eat, even more once he’d started going to Sam’s gym every morning, but he wasn’t going to complain, it made him smile every time Sasha tried to cook something new, whether it turned out or not.

“Hey Stevie?” Sasha’s voice was quiet, and he was looking up at Steve through the curtain of his hair, nervously tucking it behind his ear. “Could you...I mean, I was thinking...maybe you could try calling me Bucky?”

Steve’s fork froze halfway to his mouth. The thought made his stomach twist. What was he supposed to do? “I don’t know…”

Sasha set down his plate, wringing his hands together. “If it’s too weird, don’t worry about it.”

Steve’s gaze drifted to the photo of his Bucky on the wall, his thin chest caving in a sigh that made his lungs whistle slightly. “It's not that.” He reached over to brush his fingers over Sasha’s face. It was familiar in a lot of ways, his eyes had softened and his cheeks filled out a bit. He really was Bucky after all. Not the same, but Bucky nonetheless. 

“I don't mind calling you Bucky.” He flushed when Bucky leaned onto his touch. “Just give me some time to get used to it, okay?” 

Bucky nodded, looking pleased with himself as he picked up his plate. “If it's really too-”

“I said don't worry about it.” The words came out a little harsher than Steve meant and he wanted to pull them back immediately. 

Bucky put his plate down again, capturing Steve’s hands in his own. “I don't want to make things hard on you.” 

Steve couldn't escape the intensity of his gaze, and he felt something deep in his chest suddenly come loose, tears pricking sharply at the back of his eyes. “Buck…” He threw his arms around Bucky's neck, squeezing him tightly as the tears threatened to overflow. God, he was being so dramatic. 

Bucky rubbed soothing circles into his back, and let Steve cry, resting his cheek on top of Steve’s head. “I don't want to over-step, I just-I think I'm ready. 

Steve nodded, pulling away and wiping at his face with the back of his arm. “Sorry to he such a big baby.” 

Bucky smiled at him and Steve felt his stomach do a flip. What had he done to deserve Bucky back in his life? They weren't the same, but they were both Bucky. And he could love them both, right? 

Bucky brushed his fingers over Steve’s cheek. “Could I kiss you?” 

Steve was staring at him, his eyes round. They hadn’t, since that night, touched in a way that was anything but familiar, but Steve would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it. “Yeah…” The word was barely past his lips before Bucky kissed him, his mouth surprisingly soft. Steve sighed gently into the kiss as his fingers found their way into his hair. God, it was soft too, 

Pressing closer with a quiet, needy sound, Steve melted against Bucky’s chest, scooting into his lap when Bucky’s metal fingers crawled under the hem of his shirt to rub circles into the jut of his hip.

Bucky pulled away after a moment, leaning his forehead against Steve’s. “I think I'm in love with you.” 

Steve felt tears prick at the back of his eyes again. Shit, Bucky was really turning him into a sap. “I always love you Buck. Any version of you.” 

Bucky looked up at him, his eyes shining and expression soft. “Punk.” 

“Jerk.” Steve kissed him again.


	8. Chapter 8

Bucky blinked awake, his senses jumping into high alert. Someone was in their apartment.

Steve was deep asleep on his chest, though he stirred when Bucky gently scooted off the bed. Pressing a fingers to his lips Bucky nodded when Steve cut off the small sleepy noise that tried to leave his throat.

None of his weapons were in here. He’d been good and left them all in the closet in his room. His fingers itched to feel the familiar weight of his knife in his hand. Creeping silently toward the door Bucky pulled it open. There were men in their living room, and he felt his blood run cold when he caught the bright red insignia on their shoulders.

_This wasn’t happening._

One of the men turned sharply. He must have made a noise, stupid mistake.

“Well, you were easier to find than I expected.” The man’s voice grated on the inside of Bucky’s skull. He should have known, he should have _known_ they would come for him. It was only a matter of time. They were going to take him back, away from Steve and the little bubble of happiness he’d found for himself, and turn him back into the Asset.

He was frozen in place, cold fear leaving him shaking.

“Should we take him, sir?” One of the other men chimed in, he sounded afraid, good. He should be afraid.

The first man, Rumlow, Bucky’s brain supplied, scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “He’ll come with us without question. Won’t you, Soldier? We know the words to make you do whatever we want.”

The man next to Rumalow was holding the little red book, and Bucky’s eyes stuck to it. Clearly, they hadn’t expected him to go easily after all this time if they’d actually brought it with them. How had they even gotten here?

The words, they could make him; he wasn’t sure if he was strong enough to resist-

It was too late, the words falling from the tech’s mouth and making Bucky feel like he’d been set on fire, his head exploding into pain. He knew he screamed, but he couldn’t hear it, sinking to his knees, his head down as the pain washed over him. He was weak after all, couldn’t tune it out.

The door behind him clicked open and Bucky felt his fear wash over him renewed. _No, Steve, don’t._

“Kill this kid.” Rumalow was laughing, and Bucky moved before he could think, shielding Steve even as a round from one of the goon’s guns ripped into him, pinging off the metal added to his collarbone. He barely winced.

“Soldier-” Rumlow snarled. “You will comply.”

Bucky jerked his head, his hair falling over his face again, but doing nothing to hide his expression. “My name is Bucky.”

Before the HYDRA men could recover he had moved again, shoving Steve back through the door into the bedroom, metal hand closing around the neck of the man holding his book. A sick measure of satisfaction rushed through him as he crushed his throat. The rest happened in a flash, until the men were just heaps on the floor, and Bucky held one of their pistols to Rumlow’s head.

“How did you get here?” Bucky growled, pulling harder on the arm he had twisted behind Rumalow’s back until he cried out. ‘“You know I can do more than break you arm.”

Rumlow just spit at him, and Bucky had to resist shooting him immediately. _“Tell me,_ or you’ll wish I killed you.”

“We used the same machine you came here with. That’s why it sent us to the same place. Built a transponder to send us back.” He looked over at one of the men and Bucky spied a little metal box attached to his hip. “They weren’t sure it was going to work at all.”

“You should have left me alone.” Bucky gave one more pull, grinning when Rumlow cried out as he dislocated his shoulder. “I’m not going to be nice and send you back to them with a message.”

Rumalow opened his mouth to argue again but Bucky just sighed and pulled the trigger, not even reacting as blood splattered him. He was used to this. Killing was more natural to him than anything.

“Bucky?” Steve’s voice came small from the doorway but Bucky ignored him. He couldn’t face Steve like this. Steve was probably going to kick him out, and he wouldn’t blame him.

Stepping away and letting Rumlow’s body crumple to the floor he moved to retrieve the book and the transceiver. Heaving the bodies into a pile in the center of the room he grabbed the pencil out of one of the guy’s necks. He owed Steve some new art supplies. Wiping the pencil off on his thigh he grabbed one of the stickynotes off the fridge, sticking it neatly to Rumlow’s chest and stepping back.

He couldn’t help but grin as he set the transceiver and sent their bodies back in a flash of light. He had the book now, and they couldn’t hurt him without it. He hoped they’d like his note.

 

_Better luck next time._

 

“Buck, hey.” Bucky jumped when Steve touched him, flinching away and hiding his face. Oh god, Steve had seen. He knew what a monster Bucky really was.

He shied away from Steve’s touch again. “I got blood on the floor…” Staring blankly at the splotch sinking into the floor Bucky tried to piece together what needed to be done.

“You got it on the wall too.” Steve snarked, grabbing Bucky’s arm before he could pull away again. “You’re also bleeding. Did you forget you got shot?”

Bucky froze. He actually had forgotten, the rush of adrenaline dulling the pain. “I can get it out with pliers.”

Steve set him up in the bathroom, his touch gentle and softer than Bucky deserved.

“You...might want to look away.” The hole had already mostly closed, but the bullet was stuck against his metal collar-bone. He made sure Steve had turned his head before grabbing the pliers off the counter to dig the bullet out.

Hissing as he shoved the pliers in Bucky let out a small pained noise as he wrenched the bullet free, Steve quickly pulled his head up and shoved about a pound of gauze over the newly-reopened hole.

“There, that wasn’t so bad.” Steve murmured.

Bucky snorted at Steve’s attempt at levity. “We’re lucky no one called the cops at the gunshots.”

Steve was quiet and focused as he finished patching Bucky up, a small frown sticking on his face and scrunching up between his eyes. It wasn’t until Bucky caught his chin with his metal hand that Steve looked up at him.

“I was afraid you were going to leave.” Steve whispered without Bucky even having to ask, “I thought you were going to go after them, and I was never going to see you again.”

Bucky pulled him into a bone-crushing hug, burying his face in Steve’s shoulder and pressing a kiss to his skin. “Never. I’d never leave you.” He sighed, “You’re stuck with me, ‘til the end of the line.”

Steve wrapped his skinny arms around Bucky and squeezed him tight. Bucky wasn’t sure how long they sat there on the bathroom floor, but it was long enough for the bullet wound to close. He nudged Steve off his lap and pulled them both up. “We gotta get the blood up before it sets.”

Steve sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “So much for sleep.”

Bucky watched Steve while they worked, quietly waiting for him to freak out. He’d watched Bucky kill five men, and he wasn’t going to freak out?

The blood was not easy to get up. It came off the floor pretty well, but there was probably going to be a permanent dark spot on the wood. Bucky added a rug to his mental list. The wall however, was a bit of a disaster.

“Do you think I could say I cut myself?” Steve was standing by the wall with his hands on his hips.

“Maybe if you said you cut your arm off.” Bucky rumbled. Steve gave him a look and Bucky snorted at his unintentional joke. “We’ll just get as much as we can and I'll sand and re-paint the wall.”

Steve raised an eyebrow at him. “When did you become a handyman?”

Bucky kissed his cheek. “Ye of little faith.”

Once they’d gotten the wall as clean as it was getting Bucky took a minute in the bathroom to scrub at his face again, still feeling sticky with blood even though he knew it was all gone.

“You want to go get some breakfast? The cleaner is giving me a serious headache.” Steve was leaning against the doorway, picking at a hangnail.

Bucky trailed after Steve as they headed for the coffee shop on the corner. The sun was barely coloring the sky but people were already out for the day. They really were lucky that no one had called the police.

“Steve?” Bucky called softly, but Steve seemed to be ignoring him. Bucky felt his stomach drop. Shit, was Steve freaking out now? “Steve?” Bucky said a little louder, Steve’s head finally turned.

“Sorry, I don't hear so well from this side.” He twined their fingers together, keeping Bucky from hiding his metal hand like he usually would.

“S’okay.” Bucky squeezed Steve’s hand gently. “I know.”

“You took a bullet for me.” Steve was staring straight ahead as they walked. “You saved me.”

Bucky shrugged. “Wasn't going to let them hurt you.”

“You really think they're going to try again?”

Bucky shook his head. “I have the book now.” He brushed his hand over his chest where he'd hid the book in the inside pocket of his jacket. “They can't control me without it.”

Steve looked up at him. “What're you going to do with it?”

“Burn it.” Bucky growled, “I don't want any chance for anyone to get ahold of it again.”

After they'd each gotten a very large coffee, and a pile of muffins to bring back home Bucky was feeling better.

“You're really not going to freak out?” Bucky balanced the muffins in one arm and his coffee in the other as Steve opened the door. The apartment still smelled like bleach, but the blood was gone.

Steve just shrugged. “No point in freaking out. It's done. You were protecting yourself, and me.”

“But I killed them Steve.”

Steve winced, carefully setting his coffee on the table as he started to shake. Oh, definitely not okay. Bucky rushed up to him, gathering Steve into his arms before he could dissolve into a full panic attack.

Steve didn’t seem to know how to handle himself, the breakdown that Bucky had been waiting for hitting him all at once as his tiny frame shook in Bucky’s arms. God, this was all his fault.

“Shh, shh, it’s alright.” Bucky held Steve tightly, but not so tight that it would crush him.

Steve pushed him away suddenly, and Sasha let go as quickly as he could, not wanting to force his touch on Steve if he didn’t want it. Here it was, now Steve was going to kick him out, and Bucky couldn’t really blame him. Most people didn’t handle murder so easily, even if it was in self-defense.

Steve stood in the center of the room and Bucky watched him try to control his breathing.

“I just…” He started, but immediately cut himself off with a wheeze of breath. “Shit, not now asthma…”

“I can go…” Bucky wrung his hands together, his anxiety spiking. He should have known…

“Oh shut up. I’m not going to kick you out.” Steve had his eyes closed as he counted his breaths. After a long few moments of silence Steve opened his eyes again. “I mean, jesus Buck, you killed 5 people. I realize it was for self-defense, but…” He winced. “It’s a lot different writing about the Winter Soldier killing people, and seeing someone you love actually do it.”

Bucky’s head perked up. “You love me?”

Steve crossed his arms. “ _So_ not what you should be focusing on.”

Bucky dropped his gaze again, the small smile sliding from his lips. “I know what I did was horrible. But I don’t want to hurt anyone anymore. I’m sorry you had to see that.” Steve crossed the room and put his arms around Bucky again, and Bucky babbled on. “I just… they weren’t going to leave us alone if I left them alive. Now I have the book, and…” He trailed off. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

Steve buried his face in Sasha’s flesh shoulder, a small noise escaping his throat.

“Just give me some time to come to terms with it. I’m not Captain America, I’m not used to coming face to face with bad guys.”

Bucky nudged him. “Can you imagine if you were? Short little bean pole like you punching guys through a wall?” He managed to get Steve to crack a smile.

“Not all of us can get a cool arm and super juice. You said you were going to fix my wall.”


	9. Chapter 9

Steve was trying to be okay with everything that had happened. After his initial panic he had tried to think about it logically. He knew that Bucky hadn’t had a choice, but he still felt a little sickened when he looked at the wall, even though Bucky had spent the rest of the day sanding and repainting it a soft blue. 

It wasn’t that he was angry, but he was still scared that they might try again, Bucky seemed convinced now that he had the book HYDRA would leave them alone, and Steve could only hope. 

The little red book had intrigued him, and Bucky had kept it close to him the whole day, even though it seemed to disgust him in equal parts. 

“What’s in it?” Steve didn’t want to pry, but he was curious. It obviously held important things, but he wasn’t going to force Bucky to show him. 

“The Winter Soldier.” Bucky replied simply. “It has all the triggers, and all the information on how to...keep me compliant.” 

Steve tangled their fingers together, a small amount of pride filling him when Bucky didn’t pull his metal hand back. He’d really made leaps and bounds, even if he was constantly reminding Steve that he was, in his own mind at least, a mess. 

“You said you wanted to burn it.” Steve muttered, and Bucky nodded. 

“I don’t want it. And I don’t want someone to be able to get their hands on it.” 

Steve sighed. “You’ll have to pull down the smoke detectors. We can burn it in the sink. It won’t hurt the metal.” He raised an eyebrow when Bucky blinked at him. “You want to wait?” 

Bucky shook his head, leaving the book on the coffee table as he methodically pulled down each of the smoke detectors and pulled out the batteries. Steve sat still, resisting the urge to sneak a look. 

“Do you want to see it?” Steve jumped when Bucky appeared behind him, looking up at him and hoping he didn’t look guilty. 

“No, it’s private.”

Bucky pressed a kiss to his lips. “I won’t keep any secrets from you. If you want to look, go ahead. I don’t even know what’s in there.”

Steve turned, moving to snatch the book off the counter but pulling his hand back at the last moment. “No. I really don’t want to see. It doesn’t matter what the book says. You’re not the Winter Soldier anymore. Let’s just burn it.” 

Steve pulled himself up, going to dig through his art supplies. “It’s not as flashy as gas, but I have some turpentine that should do the job.” He pulled out the jar, peering through the cloudy glass to check and make sure it hadn’t evaporated away before handing it to Bucky. He continued to dig through the bin until he dug up a lighter as well, ignoring Bucky’s raised eyebrow as he handed it over. 

“It’s for burning frays off of canvas.”

Bucky hummed, taking the jar and the lighter over to the sink, carefully holding the book in his metal hand as he doused it in the turpentine and caught the edge with the lighter. Steve stepped back from the whoosh of heat as the pages caught and Bucky dropped it into the sink to watch the pages curl. 

Bucky nudged the ashes around with his metal fingers, making sure that no discernible bits were left before he turned on the water and washed the whole mess down the sink. His shoulders slumped and he leaned against the edge of the counter heavily. 

“I never thought I’d be free of them.” He sighed, resting his forehead against the countertop. “I don’t even know how to feel.”

Steve touched his arm gently, leaning against him. He didn’t think he needed to say anything for Bucky to understand. There was no way that Steve could understand the way that Bucky was feeling right now, and he just wanted to be there for him. 

They both jumped when Steve’s phone chirped, Bucky managing to crack a smile as Steve dug it out of his pocket. 

“It’s Sam. He says that Nat is bringing dinner over tonight.” He grinned. “I hope they don’t mind paint fumes.” With everything that had happened some time with his friends was just what he needed. Something normal sounded just perfect to keep his head clear. 

Bucky pulled him into another brief hug, giving him a slobbery kiss before Steve managed to push him off. 

“Get off you jerk. We gotta make this place presentable.”

It didn’t take them as long as Steve assumed it would to get the place reorganized, but he still felt like he was reeling. He just had to get over it; he couldn’t continue to freak out, it wouldn’t change what happened. Okay, maybe he could freak out a little more, but later. 

Bucky kept watching him, and Steve knew that he was expecting him to freak out again, and it was making him feel worse, but before he could say anything else Sam was knocking on his door with Natasha hot on his heels with her arms loaded with groceries. 

“We’re having a Blini party.” She announced, going to dump the bags in the kitchen.

Sam shrugged when Steve raised his eyebrows at him. “I got a bunch of nontraditional good stuff to put in them too.”

“I heard that!” Nat called, reappearing around the corner. “You painted.” 

Steve shot a look at Bucky, his hand coming up to scratch at the back of his neck. “Yeah, Bucky did it.”

“Bucky?” Sam’s eyebrows shot up and he crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re Bucky now?”

Steve tensed, opening his mouth to argue Sam’s tone but Bucky cut him off. 

“Yes.” Bucky squared his shoulders, hooking his thumbs in his belt-loops, since he was actually wearing something besides sweats for once. The people at the hardware store hadn’t seemed quite sure what to make of him. 

“And you’re okay with that Steve?” Natasha chimed in, drawing all of their gazes toward her. 

Steve shrugged. “He is Bucky. He deserves to be called whatever he wants.” Steve’s hands settled onto his hips. He’d hoped that Sam and Natasha would be understanding. 

Bucky was hovering next to him, wringing his hands in uncertainty as his shoulders crawled toward his ears. Steve gently touched his hand, and Bucky turned to gaze down at him. 

Natasha was standing with her arms crossed in a mirror of Sam;s pose, though her expression was soft where Sam’s radiated rage. Steve knew that they were both protective of him, even though he didn't need it. 

“It's fine with me, really.” Steve touched Bucky’s arm again, reaching up to kiss his slightly-stubbled cheek. “You don't have to agree. It's not up for debate.” 

Sam’s posture deflated and he uncrossed his arms. “That's how it is huh?”

Steve grinned at him, putting his arm around Bucky. “Oh, that's how it is.” 

Natasha was grinning, and she nudged Sam with her shoulder. “Can we he done with the masculine posturing now and eat some food?” 

Steve’s eyebrows scrunched together when Sam turned to her with a soft look. No way. 

“You have something you want to share too?” Bucky piped up next to him, and Steve looked up at him in confusion, but he was focusing on Sam and Nat. 

Natasha’s smile widened and she leaned against Sam. “Guess we might as well let the cat out of the bag too.” 

Steve’s mouth dropped open and he untwined his arm from around Bucky. “You guys didn't tell me! How long?” 

Sam chuckled, putting his arm around Natasha’s shoulders. “Since a little before your boy here. We were gonna tell you, but you were pretty busy.”

Steve rounded on Bucky next. “You knew?” Bucky threw his hands up. 

“Natasha told me a while ago. She said not to say anything.” 

Natasha clapped her hands together, blatantly ignoring Steve’s enraged expression. “Let's get cooking! Steve can steam while he kneads dough.”

Steve did fume the whole time he kneaded, shooting all of them slightly murderous expressions. Some friends they were. 

Some of Steve’s annoyance dissipated as they cooked however, watching Bucky interact with his friends made his chest feel full in a good way for once. 

Bucky really had come so far. Despite everything that had happened they were all the better for it. He believed Bucky when he said that HYDRA wouldn't be a problem, though he was purposefully focusing on not freaking out about the fact that there was a machine that existed which could send people from other dimensions. But really, he'd been avoiding that thought since the first day Bucky showed up. Steve wasn't going to question it, it had all ended up for the better. 

Dinner was amazing, and they all managed to squish onto Steve’s couch to watch a few of the terrible movies that Natasha had brought. No matter how many times she told Steve that they were cult classics he wouldn't think of them of them as good. 

Bucky was humming as he finished stacking dishes into Steve’s rarely-used dishwasher, leaving Steve to say goodbye to his friends. 

Natasha pulled him into a hug, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I'm happy for you.” 

Steve grinned back at her, feeling a little light-headed with happiness. “I'm happy for you too, even if you have questionable taste.”

Sam snorted. “I'm right here.”

Steve looked up at him. “Oh, you are.”

Sam nudged him, hugging him after Nat let go. “You're a piece of work Rogers.” 

Steve leaned against him. It would probably take a while for Sam to really accept things, but he was willing to be patient, for once. 

“Thanks for dinner guys.” He pulled the door closed after they had gone, a small smile on his lips. Leaning against the door for a while he took a long moment to look around and think about all the things that were different now. 

“Hey Buck?” Steve called, making a beeline for the kitchen. “Can I talk to you about something?” 

Bucky shut the dishwasher and jabbed at the button. “Yeah, what ya need Stevie?”

Steve leaned against the doorway for a moment? Just looking at Bucky. He looked like a new man, well, not really new, but renewed. Steve had never stood a chance not to fall in love with him. 

“I need to start a new storyline for my comic, since I have the run for this one almost done. I was thinking of doing a Winter Soldier stand-alone, like Maria has been prompting from day one.” 

Bucky expression slid into a slight frown. “Yeah?” 

Steve chewed his lip. “I was hoping you'd help me write it.” 

Bucky snorted. “I'm a terrible writer, but if you think it'd help, sure.” 

“Really?” Steve blinked at him, “I expected you'd have to do some.. mulling over.” 

Bucky shrugged. “It's just a story. I'm willing to help you write.” He crossed the kitchen to give Steve a kiss. “Just don't expect me to help with drawing.” 

Steve grinned up at him. “Don't worry, I won’t.” He felt the huge weight of worry disappear from his chest. He'd been sure Bucky would be resistant to help him, but he was right, it was just a story, and he could even have it end happy, like the Winter Soldier deserved. “I don't think they'll go for the sappy ending I have planned though.”

Bucky kissed him again. “The Winter Soldier doesn't seem like the kind of guy to have a happy ending.” 

Steve brushed his fingers over Bucky’s cheek. “He will.” 

Bucky nudged him, a grin on his lips. “C’mon you big sap. Let's try and get back to bed. No HYDRA goons this time.”


	10. Chapter 10

Bucky knew he was dreaming. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a dream. There had been no dreaming in The Cold, only the lazy haze of half-formed memories in the time while they woke him up, and even then he could barely remember those. Still, he recognized this feeling is a dream.

Pulling open his eyes he expected a nightmare. He hadn’t slept deep enough to dream in months, and whenever he did it was always horrific scenes of the things that he’d done. This time however it was soft, and his eyes slowly focused on a softly grainy, featureless world. He knew he should feel afraid, waking up in a void, but it was so calm and warm, like floating on your back in the ocean.

Strange that his dream would be of nothing, however it felt soothing if he was being honest. His brain was still so loud most days, that it was nice to have a moment to spare. Things had been going great, not perfect by any means, he still had bad days, but better.

Steve was still afraid that HYDRA was going to come for them, but Bucky was ready if they ever decided to make that fatal decision. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, but he wouldn’t hesitate if they threatened Steve.

Sam and Natasha were always trying to help, Nat had shown him how to french braid his hair, and Sam had kept up on his offer to have Bucky help him at the gym whenever he wanted, and Bucky was so damn grateful.

He had created a little life for himself, and it was so much more than he could have ever fathomed. He wasn’t the Asset anymore, and he wasn’t whoever he’d been before, the James Barnes who had gone dancing with pretty girls with neat pin curls, but he wasn’t the Bucky from here either.

Eventually that was likely to become a problem, having a dead man’s face, but they would deal with it if the time came. Steve wouldn’t leave him, and they could figure out anything.

Bucky pulled his eyes open, still faced with the darkness cradling him with shocking gentleness. There was no up or down, but he had the sensation of lying on his back, floating gently even though there was no real way to gauge if he was moving. It should have been horrifying, but he felt safe and calm.

_“Your sorrow has softened.”_

Bucky turned his head, though it didn’t make a difference, there was nothing to see. The soft voice brushed against him again.

_“I am glad.”_

He remembered the feeling of words breathed into the back of his neck from what felt like ages ago. The machine that had sent him here, he hadn’t dreamed that.

“Thank you.” He murmured, his lips forming the words but no real sound escaping.

_“I was never useful before, purposeless even by the people who built me. I am glad to have helped.”_

Bucky didn’t know what to say, so he just closed his eyes again. If this thing could communicate with him through time and space why shouldn’t it be able to read his feelings?

He poured everything he’d felt since that first day into the darkness around him, the good and the bad. Feeling anything at all was a gift and he wasn’t going to lose it again.

_Thank you._

When Bucky opened his eyes again he was faced with the soft swirling plaster of Steve’s ceiling. Blinking hard at the sudden ability to see anything at all he took a long moment to admire the soft light crawling across the room as the sun rose, painting the room in yellows and oranges.

Steve was curled up next to him, breathing easily for once, his eyelashes brushing over his cheeks as the lines of worry that seemed to have taken up residence between his eyes were left softened by sleep. God, Bucky was really blessed by this man. Not many people would do half of what Steve had done for him, but this was his life now.

“Thank you.” He murmured, brushing the hair back from Steve’s forehead before carefully sliding out of bed.

After closing the bedroom door to let Steve sleep, Bucky stretched his arms over his head, rubbing his left shoulder and trying to get his back to pop back into place. Sam had jokingly suggested that he go and see a chiropractor; Bucky had told him where he could shove it.

Padding over to Steve’s desk Bucky dug through it until he found the sketch of the machine he’d found the first day, brushing his metal fingers over the man standing proudly in front of it before carefully tacking it up to the pegboard where Steve kept his notes.

 

_Thank you._


End file.
